


A Symphony of Echoes

by eurydice72



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, F/M, Minor Character Death, Pregnancy, Season/Series 04, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-24 03:12:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 61
Words: 281,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/934618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydice72/pseuds/eurydice72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Legions of True Hearts. A confused Buffy is trying to get on with her life, but Spike's promise to stand by her haunts the Slayer. Her past collides with her future, forcing her to decide which---and who---she can trust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Thee, I Send This

**Author's Note:**

> Where “Legions of True Hearts” was about William and Buffy, this fic will explore Spike and Buffy, and the aftermath of everything that happened in London, both in the present and in the past. While he is not the primary focus of this particular story, it’s my sincerest hope that the heart of William will pervade, for Buffy’s sake, for Spike’s sake, and for their potential future.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XXVI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: In “Legions of True Hearts”: Buffy went to England for a summer break with Giles and Willow, only to get embroiled in a scheme to revive a turned Slayer. She started having dreams of William Freston, only to be thrown back in time to be with him for real. The human incarnation of Spike, William grew in confidence in Buffy’s support, and the pair fell in love, while doing everything they could to solve the mystery of April’s presence in London. Back in the present, Willow was forced to team with Esme, the witch who’d revived April, and together they introduced Spike to the picture, who remembered nothing about what had happened in the past. Eventually, with the help of Rose, a Watcher guardian, Spike’s memory was returned, Buffy was returned to the present, and Esme’s magic was taken away from her and placed inside Willow.

The air writhed with shaven beats, cadences stolen from carnal rhythms that whispered their promises to unsuspecting ears with every pulse. It breathed in an echo of life, and undulated into the darkness to seek out the unwary, to draw them in with its professions of power, to suck and drain them of all energy before flinging them back out to the dawn.

It was merciless.

It was intoxicating.

It was…

…really, really loud.

The small group stared up at the brick edifice of the factory, watching the stream of people lined up outside the door with mixed reactions, the music a cacophonous blur against their ears.

“Whose neato keen idea was this again?” Willow asked.

“I believe the words, ‘confronting the demons of our past’ came out of _your_ mouth,” Xander replied. “How many days have you been in that psych class now?”

“Don’t forget, ‘It’ll be fun. It’s not just about vampires any more,’” Buffy chimed in.

Willow’s nose wrinkled. “And you listened to me because…?”

“Because the Bronze is closed for renovations after that vamp attack last week.”

“And it’s Friday night,” offered Buffy.

“Don’t forget free drinks.”

The last came from Oz, who tightened his hold around his girlfriend’s waist when she turned to look at him. “But we still don’t have to do this. Not if you don’t want to.”

She sighed. “I’m being a baby. I mean, so what if there’s enough bad memories attached to this place to make it its own Mexican soap opera? It’s time to make new memories, right? Good ones. Ones that are ultra-light on the kidnapping and terror, and uber-heavy on the fun and frolicking.” She glanced around at her friends in anxious hope. “Right?”

“Right.” She said it with far more conviction than she felt, but Buffy forced the smile to remain on her face anyway. Truth be told, she didn’t want to be here any more than Willow did. The memories weren’t the same, but the attachment was still there, and the last thing Buffy wanted right now was even more reason to think of Spike. She did that enough already.

When news of the nightclub had first been announced, there had been a lot of joking among the gang that at least they wouldn’t have to get used to calling it something new. Making the Factory into Sunnydale’s second hotspot made sense to Joe Q. Public---a techno exterior to take advantage of, huge and interesting interiors that would create a unique look for the club. The new owners didn’t even go wildly original with the name.

Beneath the Scoobies’ badinage, though, ran a current of apprehension that seethed in ways that singed the edges of their orderly world. Nothing could change the fact that the Factory housed some of the darkest moments in their history. A terrified Willow and Xander. An impaled Cordelia. A destroyed Oz.

Spike.

_Not tonight_ , she vowed. Thoughts of the vampire pervaded every aspect of her life, eating away at her attempts for normalcy with a hunger like woodworm in a furniture shop. On patrol. In her poetry class. Taking a bath. Nowhere was safe, so when Willow had suggested the night out at the new club, Buffy had jumped at the opportunity to drown out the haunting rumble of his voice, to forget those blue eyes--- _William’s eyes_ \---and the way the memories seemed to merge so that it was hard to tell which was William and which was Spike.

Maybe she wouldn’t have had such a hard time with the integration if she could just see the real thing. If she could just talk to him and settle the question once and for all.

But she couldn’t.

It had been seven weeks and two days since Buffy had left London and Spike behind. Seven weeks and two days since he’d vowed to stand by her, to hold true to a vow given by a man long dead of body even if not of spirit. Seven weeks and two days since he’d told her that he still loved her, using William’s words as his own though his claim for proprietorship carried with it the aegis of time.

Seven weeks and two days since Buffy had last seen him.

She kept telling herself it was a good thing that Spike hadn’t shown up in Sunnydale after all. Fewer complications. Less explanations. Xander still didn’t know the whole story about what had happened in England; for some reason, Willow and Giles were honoring Buffy’s unspoken wish to keep it private. She could go back to having a semi-normal existence, starting college and taking the strength she’d found with William to step forward with her life. Really, it was better this way.

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

“So,” Xander announced, with an exaggerated clap and rub of his hands. “Are we doing this? Or do we plan on doing our frolicking outside? Because I’m thinking, there’s enough electric boogaloo on _this_ side of those walls for us to get our groove on without actually having to step a foot into the Fortress of Doom.”

“We’re going in,” Buffy said determinedly. Looping her arm through Xander’s, she began pulling him toward the entrance with Oz and Willow right at her heels.

* * *

They chose a table as far from the speakers as possible, and still, the girls had to lean in and shout, in order to be heard.

“Nothing alcoholic,” they both insisted, and watched Oz and Xander weave an awkward path through the mob of gyrating bodies toward the bar. The noise left them with little option but to sit back and observe, but the flashing lights and kaleidoscope colors soon gave Buffy a headache, and she turned her back to the rest of the room.

Attempting conversation was impossible. When Willow’s hand closed around Buffy’s forearm, tugging her off her stool, Buffy frowned. She only understood when her friend jabbed a finger at the garish neon sign across the room proclaiming the whereabouts of the restrooms.

They were both sweating by the time they got to the dark corridor, the swelter of so many moving bodies wreaking havoc with the air conditioning. Buffy’s head was spinning, her stomach queasy, and she was grateful for the blast of cool air that assaulted them when Willow pushed the door open.

“Maybe not such a good idea after all, huh?” Willow commented once they were inside.

Buffy shrugged. “It’ll be better once we get into the Friday night-ness of it,” she said. “It’s just that it’s a dance-y kind of place, not a talky kind.” She turned to look at her reflection in the mirror, wiping at the sweat that glistened on her brow. “I have a feeling I’ll be around here a lot, though,” she added. “It screams ‘vampire smorgasbord,’ loud and clear.”

Though she did her best not to look, Buffy’s gaze drifted down until she met the echo of her eyes in the glass. She’d taken special care with her appearance, selecting one of her more cleavage-daring tops in which to be seen. In spite of the make-up and let’s-party clothes, however, she couldn’t help but feel that something was still missing. There was a hollowness to her cheeks, a wistful hunger in the depths of her eyes, that attested to an unknown yen. Well, maybe not so unknown. If she’d lived in a world where denial wasn’t her best friend, she’d be able to identify it for what it was.

Loneliness.

It was hard to connect to a world in which the person who understood her best wasn’t around anymore.

“I saw Riley out there,” Willow offered brightly.

A tiny line formed between Buffy’s brows. “Psych TA Riley?” At her friend’s nod, she added, “So?”

“So…he’s nice.”

“We’ve been in school for all of a week, Will. What do you know that I don’t?”

“I ran into him at the library a couple times. He always asks about you. And…he’s nice.”

Buffy shook her head. “I’m not interested in dating right now. You know that.”

Willow’s smile faded. “But, you’re wearing your Buffy’s-bustin’-out-all-over top. I thought, you know, you’d changed your mind.” She gnawed at her bottom lip. “If this is about Spike---.”

“It’s not.” She said it with probably just a tad too much force, but vehemence was a good thing, right? It announced confidence. And sometimes over-compensation.

“It’s not,” she repeated, this time quieter. “This is about me moving on. That’s what this whole summer was about, remember? Letting go of the past and taking a bold step into the future, minus the vampire boyfriend baggage.”

For a long moment, Willow regarded her in solemn perusal, and then burst into convulsive giggles. “OK, I know you didn’t mean to be all punny,” she said, “but that was a good one, with the past thing.” She took a deep breath. “There’s no way you’re over William, and if Spike has said something to make you start second-guessing everything that happened between the two of you, you gotta remember, he’s a vampire and they’re not exactly known for being all truth-telling.”

Buffy turned away, color flaring in her cheeks. “I don’t know what Spike thinks,” she said, so quietly that even the acoustics of the tiled bathroom didn’t amplify her words.

The laughter immediately evaporated. “How? Unless all those letters are death threats or something.” Sudden panic rose in her green eyes. “They’re not, are they? Because if they are, we have to tell Giles---.”

“I said, I don’t _know_.” Buffy sighed. “I haven’t…actually… _read_ any of his letters.”

Nobody knew about Buffy’s encounter with Spike on the banks of the river that last night in London. She’d deliberately kept that small pearl to herself, fearful of what the others might say about her potential lapse in judgment. Once they’d left European soil, even Giles had been surprisingly mute on the entire subject of what had happened, and she honestly didn’t know what he would do or say if he found out what Spike had promised to her.

Then, a week after she’d returned to Sunnydale, the first letter had arrived. Buffy had come home from hanging out with Willow to find the envelope waiting for her, the script all too familiar, the return address emblazoned with the name, “W. Freston.” Her stomach had risen to her throat, tears threatening to erupt, and she’d begged off her mom’s questions with vague stories about a guy she’d met in London, promptly hiding the letter beneath her bed. She just wasn’t ready to face the anguish of revisiting the loss of William yet.

A week later, another arrived.

The following week, there were two more.

They just kept on coming, with increasing regularity, until not a mail day had gone by over the past two weeks where one didn’t show up.

Still…they remained unread. All of them.

The postmarks varied. Though the first had come from England, the rest seemed to be trekking around the world, and Buffy found herself tracing the colored postmarks in wistful contemplation until the dye came off on her fingers. If she imagined really hard, she could picture the exotic places he was seeing---glittering sand, the Champs de Elysees, swarthy merchants in the middle of a crowded marketplace---but always, the question of what he was doing, who he was with, floated to the fore as a murky filter, and the envelope ended up with the rest.

The longer Sunnydale remained Spike-less, the harder it got for Buffy to even consider reading them, and they gradually moved from under her mattress to a box at the bottom of her weapons chest.

She thought William would’ve liked the irony of that.

Willow knew about the letters because they followed Buffy from home to the dorm. How he knew where she was living---unless he was in Sunnydale, had been there all along, and the letters were just some twisted game he was playing with her emotions---Buffy had no idea. But Willow had been the one to retrieve the mail that first day, and since it was the only real envelope amidst a mishmash of pizza place flyers, notices about the Factory opening, and a reminder from the university health clinic about their free condom giveaway, it had been impossible for her not to see the return address.

Now, Willow looked at her best friend with the same confusion she’d sported on the flight home from London. “But…aren’t you curious about what he’s trying to tell you?” she asked. “Buffy, I know you don’t really want to talk about it---.”

“You’re right. I don’t.”

The silence that followed her sharp retort amplified the void, both that of the restroom and the cavernous fissure that had separated the two girls since their return to Sunnydale. They had tried so hard to ignore it, having their dorm assignments changed so that they could room together, doing all the old Scooby stuff in a vain attempt to capture at least a moment of their pre-London innocence. Xander’s return had helped, in a small way. But each was lost in their own world of issues, neither able to breach the walls that divided them, whether it was Buffy’s confusion and loss about William/Spike, or Willow’s desperate struggles to find a new balance in her consciousness, now that she had Esme’s magic simmering under every breath.

Buffy was the first to break, turning away to twist the tap and splash some cold water across her face. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I shouldn’t---.”

“No,” Willow interrupted. “I shouldn’t have pushed. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“I guess we’re both pretty sorry, then, huh?” Buffy offered her a wan smile in the mirror, and was relieved when it was returned. Taking a deep breath, she decided it was time she stopped trying to pretend she could handle this on her own. Maybe some of the more innocuous details would be enough to start the process.

“Spike remembers everything,” she confided.

Willow blanched, but there was no surprise in her eyes, just a sad empathy that stabbed even deeper. She should’ve said something sooner, Buffy realized; of course, Willow would understand. That’s what best friends did.

“It was my spell, wasn’t it?” the redhead asked. “The true love one. It was about getting you back, not about Drusilla at all.”

Buffy nodded. “Rose did a forget spell on him. He told me when…when I saw him. The night before we left London. We…talked.”

“Just talked?”

“Certain things got said.”

“Good things, or bad things?”

“Confusing things, mostly. And some nice things,” Buffy conceded. “But definitely high on the confusing.”

“But…I don’t get it.” Willow’s fingers were playing with the tassels on her sweater, but her gaze remained level. “Why wouldn’t you read the letters? Maybe it’ll give you the closure you need. If they’re all stalkery, then it should be even easier to get past it, don’t you think?”

“And what if it makes it worse?”

“And what if it makes it better?”

Buffy’s lips pursed as she regarded the earnestness of Willow’s face. What use was the time she spent with William if she wasn’t even strong enough to look at a couple of letters? He’d offered her courage in the form of compassion, and here she was, too afraid to look over a few sheets of paper that were probably nothing anyway. What was the big deal?

The big deal was that Spike had them. William’s words. And he’d proven to her on the banks that he wasn’t afraid of wielding them.

They were the surest weapon to wound her, if that was what he wanted.

But did he? Want to, that is. All his vows, and all his protestations, and the fact that he’d deliberately returned to London to seek her out before she fled back to the Hellmouth…they testified for a man with no interest in hurting her. He’d had more than one opportunity, and he’d passed on all of them to promise her that he would always be her chief advocate, that he would forever do everything in his power to help her. But, if that was true, why wasn’t he here?

Perhaps the answer rested in the letters.

The opening of the door allowed the barrage of music to slither inside before the girl who entered let it glide closed behind her. Buffy waited until the new arrival disappeared into one of the stalls before speaking again.

“Would you hate me if I bailed?” she asked.

“Are you going back to the dorm?”

“Yeah. You’re right. I just…I need to know.”

Stepping forward, Willow wrapped Buffy in a quick hug. “I’ll tell the guys you had a slaying emergency.”

“You could tell them it was a feminine emergency,” the Slayer said with a small smile. “That’s pretty much guaranteed not to get questioned.”

They parted ways on the other side of the restroom door, and Buffy slipped out the back entrance she was glad the new owners hadn’t eliminated. That’s _one_ advantage to being familiar with the old building, she thought as she stepped into the cooler night air. Easy in, easy out.

The music resonated against her back as she began the long walk back to the dorms. Her stomach still roiled from the anxiety contemplating Spike’s correspondence always invoked, but her spirit felt lighter. Answers were of the good. Knowing what Spike’s plans were was even better. And maybe Willow had guessed it and they were just a bunch of empty threats about trying to kill her again, that he’d been stupid in England and that he’d finally come to his vampire senses and hated her again.

Deep down, though…

…She really hoped not.

* * *

Though dawn was just a few hours away, the faint strum of a guitar floated through his open window, its melancholy tune winding a path along Spike’s bare arms, endeavoring to coax his pen to cease its motions and join in its languor. For a moment, he hesitated, tilting his head to listen to the delicate strains, and found himself transported more than seventy years back in time, listening to Andrés Segovia from a Moscow theater box, the scent of the girl Dru had brought with them as an aperitif filling his nostrils. That had been a good night. Peaceful. One of the few Dru had allowed him before demanding some new distraction to keep her occupied.

The ink began to flow again, smooth and silken over the paper he’d brought with them. With their hasty departures, he could never be sure whether he would have the right supplies at their next stop, even if Barcelona was nicer than most for what he wanted. He’d nicked the best pens he could after the debacle of those ballpoints in London, too; these flowed with a more lustrous stroke than those other cheap nibs, making his script seem just a little bit more meaningful.

Of course, it would’ve been better if he’d had some kind of confirmation that it was being appreciated. In spite of his now daily missives, he had yet to hear from Buffy. The doubt as to the sincerity of her words on the banks was beginning to eat at him.

No matter what town his boot set foot in, he saw her.

In Paris, there had been the girl he’d followed for half an hour through Marais, because she’d been wearing a white sundress that billowed around her legs so strikingly like Buffy’s had in the dreams.

In Dougga, when they’d been surprised by the vampire gang coming out of the amphitheatre ruins, he could hear the echoes of her instruction in the Rhodes-Fanshaw back garden, commanding him not to drop the point of his sword as he fought the demons back, and it was her joyful laughter that filled his ears when the last dusted away on the wind.

In Kutno, he’d been transfixed by the dark waters of the Ochnia for an entire night, the memory of Buffy leaning against his chest on the banks in London indelibly weighting his flesh, and only abandoned the lull of the lapping waves when the pink began to inch along the horizon.

There were moments when he considered stopping the letters. Usually, those came when his nose caught the scent of a delicious hunt and he talked himself out of it because he feared how Buffy would react if she found out he’d continued killing indiscriminately. Or when he found an empty box, and realized she still hadn’t answered him. That’s when the flashes of _bloody bitch_ and _cold-hearted cunt_ threatened to overwhelm his resolve. If she didn’t care about what he was doing, why was he bothering at all?

But he knew the answer to that, just as he knew that he would continue to write. A century before, William had made a promise to the woman who chose to believe in him, who offered her strength as his own and asked for nothing in return. Even if she was the Slayer, and even if she detested everything he stood for now, it was inconceivable for Spike to consider reneging on his vow. He loved Buffy with every fiber that was William, and every impulse that was the demon; to stop would counter everything that made him, him.

Setting the pen aside, Spike’s gaze scanned quickly over the letter. It wasn’t as long as his notes usually ran; their late arrival at the house had meant he only had a few minutes to unpack before going out again to meet up with their contact. He’d been grateful when the meeting ran short so that he could return to his tasks, though it would’ve been better if their contact had given them more concrete news.

“They’re only rumors,” Baltozar had said around his cigarillo. He’d exhaled directly into Spike’s face, probably expecting a reaction, and then shrugged when none came. “You would be chasing after ghosts to follow them.”

“Funny, but in the world I travel in, ghosts aren’t usually treated so lightly,” Spike had drawled. Pushing the envelope across the table, his eyes had been steel as he met Baltozar’s brown gaze, the debate warring in the Spaniard for a full minute before he picked it up.

“I make no promises.”

“Not askin’ for any. But if I find out you’ve lied to us, I’ll make you eat that fag of yours…right after I burn your tongue out with it.”

He’d left straight after. The rest was the boring footwork and Spike didn’t have the patience to follow through on that. He’d be there for the final confab, and if there needed to be a bit of a fracas, he was the vamp for the job, but until it got to that point, he had better things to be doing with his time.

Like finishing his letter to Buffy.

He was addressing the envelope when he heard the front door of their suite open, though he didn’t bother rising from his seat. It still gave him a little thrill when he saw Buffy’s name above the dormitory’s, images filling his head of her strolling across the sunlit campus with Red, her books hugged tightly to her chest. She had a brain she didn’t get to use nearly enough, and though she wouldn’t know a good poem if it stabbed her with her own stake, Spike was secretly pleased that she was finally getting the opportunity to show to the world that she was more than a beautiful, finely-honed weapon.

He just hoped she lived long enough to be able to take advantage of the education. If he had any say in the matter, it would be a good long time.

“William?”

Spike’s skin crawled at the sound of his real name. As each of the last fifty-one days had ticked by, revenants of his human existence had crept more and more into his waking thoughts, twisting his daily routine into a grotesque mockery of his pre-revived-memory unlife. Some of it was welcome, but there were times when he wanted to rage against the chains that now seemed to fetter him.

No time for raging now. Not when he could smell her approaching the closed door to his room.

“William?” she called out again, knocking as she did so.

He didn’t reply, but instead waited for her to enter. She always did.

“Told you a hundred times not to call me that,” Spike drawled when he heard the door slide open.

He took a small satisfaction in the slight rise in her heartbeat. “I’ve…been out with Baltozar,” she stammered, ignoring the censure of his words. “I think you’ll be pleased with what I found.”

Slowly, Spike twisted in his chair to gaze at the doorway. She was dressed in what she called her “field fatigues”---khaki trousers, flat-heeled boots that stopped just shy of her knees, and a simple white blouse that was currently limp and stained with sweat. After a particularly vicious demon in Machynlleth had yanked out a huge lock of her hair, she’d gone out and cut it short, but even her blonde bob appeared lank and disheveled. At least she’s not bothering with the crossbow anymore, Spike thought as he regarded Lydia in speculative attention. Stupid cow.

“We’re not barking up the wrong tree again?” he commented. “It’s about bloody time.”

Her eyes glittered behind her glasses. “Not only is it not the wrong tree,” Lydia said, “but I would venture to say, we actually have the right _branch_ this time.”

It was the barely controlled excitement in her voice that woke him from his apathy. “She’s here?” he demanded, rising to his feet. “You’re sure about that?”

“As sure as I can be without actually seeing her with my own two eyes.” She gestured toward the open window. “If you wish not to be caught by the sun, I suggest you come with me now. We can’t be certain that she hasn’t learned of our arrival and fled already.”

Grabbing his coat from the back of the chair, Spike was halfway to the door before he remembered the letter. “Hang on,” he said, and quickly crossed back to fetch it.

“We don’t have time---,” Lydia started, but stopped when she caught the deadly glint in his gaze. “Of course,” she said, and took the envelope from his outstretched hand. “I’ll make sure it gets there. As usual.”

He didn’t bother looking back as he pushed his way past her out of his room. Working with the Watcher wasn’t Spike’s first choice, but he’d not had a lot of options when the plan had come to him. She was smart, willing to accept his command, and had connections to people he didn’t. Plus, she made it possible for him to stay in contact with Buffy while he sorted this out. Without Lydia, Spike would never have even known that she’d moved out of her mother’s house.

For the briefest of seconds, the thought that perhaps Lydia wasn’t actually posting the letters darted across his mind, but just as quickly, Spike dismissed the notion. Yes, it would explain why he’d not had any response from Buffy, but why go to such pretenses as alerting him to the Slayer’s new address if she wasn’t actually following through on his requests? Not to mention the fact that she was more than aware he would rip her throat out if he found out she was double-crossing him. No, the letters were most definitely being sent; he just wouldn’t dwell on the reasons they weren’t being answered.

Perhaps it would be better this way.

If this truly was the end of his search, it wouldn’t be much longer before he was in Sunnydale proper. And with the gifts he intended to bring to her, Spike held deep-rooted hope that Buffy would see fit to look past her fears and give him the benefit of the doubt.

She’d believed him in London. He was sure of it.

He could make her believe him again.

* * *

His muscles were weary, his mind fogged from exhaustion, but the promise of his own bed kept Quentin’s step steady as he walked up the path to his home. It was regretful he’d had to leave the concert before the second movement, but such was the dangers of having the world’s safety foremost in his priorities. When peril struck, it was his responsibility to be at the ready, whether others believed that true or not.

The reports were perplexing. Demon activity had dropped significantly in several high-density locations, and while the enterprise of rogue hunters hardly merited anything more than a clinical notation in Council records---for tracking purposes, should the hunters’ motives end up proving less than noble---the fact that one of the sectors of lowered population was the Sunnydale Hellmouth had been enough cause for alarm to necessitate a junior Watcher contacting Travers. All accounts of Buffy Summers’ slaying told that she was still fulfilling her duties, but there had been no noticeable increase in her results. That could only mean another party was responsible, or there was more to the Slayer than was being relayed.

After the events with the crystal collection and the released April, it had been the Council’s universal opinion to keep a closer eye on Buffy, much to Travers’ relief. She’d proven to be even more unpredictable than he’d originally thought, and while he admired her ingenuity, the fact that she’d aligned herself with William the Bloody in order to ultimately defeat April made her dangerous. Apparently, though, their efforts weren’t intensive enough.

Reaching his front door, Quentin frowned when the knob turned easily in his hand. It was too late for anyone in the household to be up. Why would…?

The thought vanished as he crossed the threshold, his face implacable when his eyes came to rest on the tiny form sitting in the Wainscot chair in the foyer. “Have you decided to master new skills to balance the loss of your powers?” he asked, his voice cold. “In case you’ve forgotten, breaking and entering is a punishable offense, Esme. You lack the means to cover your tracks any longer, remember?”

Slowly, the old woman rose to her feet. Though her eyes were sunken, they were still clear, her chin still proud. “And here I thought you’d be glad to see me, Quentin,” she said.

Turning his back to her, Travers began unbuttoning his overcoat. “I’m tired,” he said, “and you’ve exhausted my patience. I don’t have the means to play whatever game you’re intent on playing this evening.”

“But that’s just it,” Esme replied. “You are not the only one who is tired.” She waited for him to look back at her before continuing. “If your offer still stands, I’d like very much to take your deal.”


	2. With Golden Quill and Precious Phrase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LXXXV.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike hasn’t gone straight to Sunnydale as Buffy had thought, but instead been writing her as he’s been travelling. However, she hasn’t read any of the letters, and wasn’t going to until Willow convinced her to do so…

For the longest time, Buffy stood and stared at the edge of the chest poking out from beneath her bed. She had thought of nothing else during the long trek back to the dorm, every possible permutation of what they could contain reeling through her head. More than once, she had changed her mind, diverting her course into one of Sunnydale’s cemeteries to get her mind off of them, but with each vampire attack that ensued, her feet inevitably returned to the path to campus, the lingering question of Spike’s intentions flooding back to blaze in ever brighter glory.

It was ridiculous to be so nervous about them. She fought demons. She averted apocalypses. She faced greater dangers each and every single moment she was out on patrol.

But that was her body that was in peril then, not her heart. And the one thing being with Angel had taught Buffy was that her heart was infinitely more fragile.

With a deep breath, she knelt at the side of the bed, grabbing the handle of the chest and sliding it out from its shelter. Her hand was trembling as she undid the clasp, and by the time she’d lifted the lid, Buffy’s pulse was racing within her veins. Stop being such a baby, she scolded herself. Letters. They’re just letters. _If you didn’t want to know what they said, you should’ve thrown them away when they arrived._

Pushing aside the stakes and sundry weapons, she bared the uppermost shoebox at the bottom of the chest. There were two boxes, the growing frequency and thickening envelopes necessitating the expansion into a second when the first got too full, but it was the bottom one that she wanted. There, the first of Spike’s letters was waiting to be opened, tucked carefully at the back of the pile as if it knew that one day, Buffy would be ready to see it. Only after she had read it would she know whether or not it would be necessary to read the rest.

Climbing onto her bed with the box in one hand and Spike’s letter in the other, she curled her legs beneath her as she looked it over with a critical eye. It was slim, the envelope generic. He’d kept the exterior simple, but when she held it up to her nose, the barest aroma of cigarettes clung to the paper. Buffy’s eyes closed. Another inhalation, this one deeper, and she was no longer sitting in her dorm room. Instead, she was wrapped within the circle of Spike’s leather duster that night by the river, her cheek resting against his chest, feeling the vibrations in his muscles as he talked about the parts of London that he’d missed. Odd how his accent had seemed to smooth in those wee hours of the morning, not quite so rough, just a little more refined.

She hadn’t been sure, though, whether it was because he no longer felt the need to pretend, or if he’d done it as a panacea for her pain over losing William.

Maybe the answer lay within the letter.

* * *

_Dear Buffy,_

_I hate airports. Do you have any idea how much glass goes into making them? Glass that lets the sun in, and keeps it bright as day. Well, as bright as jolly old_ _England_ _can get. Ironic that the day you fly out, the sun decides to make its presence known. Not even Heathrow could make it possible for me to see you off. Next time you hop the pond without me, could you possibly consider taking a redeye? Better yet, don’t go._

_You probably didn’t expect to see this letter from me. Honestly, I’m a little surprised to be sending it. But after our talk on the banks, and knowing we both remember just what it was that brought us together in the first place, maybe trying this with written words isn’t such a bad idea. I get the chance to edit out my own failings, and you get the choice to not listen if you don’t want to._

_I hope you do, though. Haven’t we proven we can rise above the differences? I meant what I said. I’ll always mean it._

_You’ll have noticed I’m not in Sunnydale as I promised I would be. I haven’t changed my mind; I still have every intention of coming and helping you in any way I can---and don’t for a second think that that wasn’t a damn hard sentence for this vampire to see in black and white. But I’ve been thinking about everything---about what happened to us before I met Dru, about why that witch was so hungry for my help. I think there’s more to this than either of us might be aware. I’m not exactly known for paying much attention to big pictures, but perhaps it’s time for that to change. I_ want _it to change, because if I’m right, then it will only be good for you. That’s all that matters to me._

_I’m off to_ _Wales_ _in the morning, a little town called Machynlleth. I’ve had word there’s a book there that can help. I don’t want to go into details, mostly because I don’t have them right now, but rest assured, it’s all for the good. If this pans out, I’ll be with you before too long, with the means to support my vow to you. Do you remember? Don’t ever forget. I promised to never abandon you, and I shall keep that promise until I’m dust._

_I love you, Buffy. That’s something else I ask you not to forget._

_Yours always,_

_William_

* * *

A single page.

That’s all it was.

No vows of undying revenge. No furious diatribes where he denounced everything he’d said to her in London.

Just the continuing promise that he was coming. That he hadn’t forgotten.

That he still loved her.

Buffy wasn’t sure if she was relieved about it or not. She’d been stalwart while reading over the letter, but when she’d approached its conclusion, something inside her chest had loosened, a soothing glow beginning to radiate outward to the numbness of her fingers. And then she’d seen the closing, and the knot had returned, uncertainty rearing its ugly head to barrage her with doubt.

_Yours._

_William._

She wanted to shout that it wasn’t William, that William was dead, and that Spike had no right to claim the name when it wasn’t truly his. Her tongue was tied, though. Nowhere within the context of the note was there any indication of the more disturbing aspects of the vampire’s personality, and nothing he wrote betrayed any of the words he’d offered her before. He didn’t tell her what exactly he was doing, but the tone, the obvious caring that permeated every phrase… _that_ was someone she recognized, just as easily as she recognized the flowing script.

_William._

Buffy’s gaze returned to the top of the page, reading it more slowly this time, weighing what he said with a thoughtfulness she hadn’t allowed on her first pass through. He’d tried to see her at the airport. Why? Had he wanted to stop her? Did he just want to say good-bye? And what could he possibly gain in this search of his that could help her? What was with the cryptic comment about Esme?

There was only one way for her to find out.

Setting the letter aside, Buffy reached into the box for the next envelope, noting the Wales postmark as she pulled it out.

_Did you find what you were looking for, Spike?_

She had a funny feeling that the answer was no.

* * *

_Dear Buffy,_

_I’d hoped to start this letter with details about my arrival in Sunnydale, but hope’s an evil mistress, determined to make my life just a bit more miserable than it already is. Machynlleth proved less than what I was hoping, though I did manage to actually_ see _the book before it got set on fire. Remind me to never attack an angry P’lirsa demon. They have a penchant for pulling hair and a tendency to go flame-happy when pissed off. My coat has a fresh new burn along the back hem to show for my efforts._

_I’m not giving up, though. As much as I want to be with you again---and I’m more than aware that using “with” before I’ve even had a chance to hear from you is presumptive, but I’m remaining optimistic that we can hold true to what happened between us in_ _London_ _\---I think the fruits of our search are worth the wait. All that I ask is you be patient with me. You were before, once upon a time._

_I had a dream about you last night. We were back in the park, and you were telling me about your return to the Hellmouth. At first, I’d had hopes that something had happened and you’d found a way for us be together in that fashion, even if I haven’t encountered any mysterious witches or drunk any funny tea lately. It was only after you started kissing me that I realized it was only a dream. There was a freedom to the way you touched me that hadn’t been there on the banks. It was more reminiscent of the way you touched me when we first met, before you found out that I was real. That’s how I knew it was all in my head. As much as I may want otherwise, I know you’re not in that place. Not yet. Though I hope you will be some time again._

_Dreaming of you made me want to see you all the more. Since I’m currently waiting for sunset to come and the evening train to arrive to take me back to_ _London_ _, seeing you is obviously impossible. I’m going to ask a favor instead._

_Write me back._

_Tell me to fuck off. Tell me you have dreams, too. Tell me you don’t know what the hell to think._

_Just tell me something._

_I know you think I don’t have the right to ask for anything, and maybe you’re right. I don’t personally think so, but then that’s the beauty of our little relationship, now isn’t it?_

_I dare you to try telling me you don’t want to, though. Even if it’s only to tell me off, I know the desire to talk to me is eating at you. You miss our nights in the park. You miss_ me _. Know how I know all this? Because the exact same thing is eating at me._

_I love you, Buffy. Don’t think for a second that I’ve forgotten that._

_Yours always,_

_William_

* * *

She stared at the page for a long moment before setting it aside to scan the second piece of paper the envelope held. They were instructions on how to write Spike back, not by conventional means but with some kind of supernatural post box. The return address was somewhere in London, but Spike’s note assured Buffy that it would reach him, no matter where in the world he was.

“A little trick I’ve picked up,” he wrote. “Helps out when you know you’re going to be incommunicado for a time.”

_He kept on writing. Even after he didn’t hear from me._

For the first time since considering the letters, a pang of guilt stabbed in Buffy’s gut. He was right, of course. How many times had she contemplated talking to him over the past seven weeks? Even when she’d tried burying herself in the mundane, he’d been there, hovering in the periphery like a watchful ghost, just waiting for the opportunity to get through her defenses and remind her of what she was missing. If she’d only started reading the letters from the first, maybe much of the anguish of the elapsed time could’ve been avoided.

Had he grown angry with her failure to respond?

Picking up the next letter, the first thing Buffy noticed was the difference in the paper. The envelope was thicker, heavier, obviously more expensive, and where the ink on the first two had looked just like any other pen, this soaked into the weft with a luxuriance suggestive of his poems from a century before. He’d switched his tools, choosing those more like the ones she was familiar with from her encounters with William. _Was it deliberate? What game is he playing?_

The faintest hope that it wasn’t a game made her fingers tremble as she carefully tore the envelope open.

* * *

_Dear Buffy,_

_I’m in_ _Paris_ _now. You’ve never been, right? It’s a shame you didn’t get the chance while you were in_ _England_ _; taking the time to cross the Channel isn’t any worse than hopping from state to state in the_ _US._

_It’s hot as hell here, and the tourists are out in full force. I used to love this time of year in the city, but now, having this many bodies around is just one more obstacle for me to get past. I spent two hours last night following a trail, only to end up losing it in Marais. To make matters worse, I saw a girl who reminded me of you, and I ended up in a goth bar getting completely and utterly pissed because everything just seemed to be going wrong. No trail. No new clues. And most importantly, no you…_

* * *

_Dear Buffy,_

_I woke up this afternoon wishing I’d never thought of this stupid plan. Every second it takes me to find her is another second I’m not with you. Why do I think she’ll listen to me anyway? I must be off my box, but something makes me hope I can get her to see reason. My non-fighting skills may be a tad rusty, but hopefully they haven’t completely atrophied. Of course, I haven’t been able to convince you yet to write me back, so maybe I’m just fooling myself._

_I miss you. Without you here, I’m starting to feel lost again. I hate not having a purpose…_

* * *

_Dear Buffy,_

_We’ve found a new lead, so I’ll be on my way to_ _Tunisia_ _once the sun goes down. I know my last letter was maudlin. Be a love and throw it away? If I’d been thinking straight, or not hungover, I would never have posted it in the first place. You don’t need to listen to me whinge just because of a minor setback. And you’re completely in your right to take your time in writing back. You’re probably too busy with your mates wasting the last bit of summer to worry about me anyway. It’s as it should be. Red had quite a scare there with her magic booster shot; she’s probably still adjusting to being so powered up…_

* * *

She stopped reading, her eyes jumping back to the top of the page to stare at the first word in the letter.

_We’ve_.

It was the first time in any of the half-dozen letters she’d read that Spike had indicated that he might not be traveling alone. It made sense that he would enlist help in whatever quest he’d given himself, but the fact that he hadn’t bothered to specify who it was made Buffy pause.

Was he with Drusilla again? Was his plan really an elaborate scheme to get back at her?

Even as she thought it, though, Buffy knew it was folly. Every letter ended the same way. _I love you. Yours always._ There were too many references to his missing her, and his disappointment in not hearing from her for it not to be genuine.

On the other hand, he was deliberately hiding his traveling arrangements from her. And though he’d hinted at trying to find this mysterious woman, Spike had yet to give her any concrete details on what exactly he was trying to accomplish. Did he think she’d try and talk him out of it?

So many questions. Her head ached with trying to keep it all sorted, but the weight of the pain was minuscule compared to the twisting confusion inside her chest. Reading the letters, her emotions were all over the place---amusement, anger, sympathy, frustration. She wanted to hate him and just throw the remainder of the boxes in the trash.

At the same time, she wanted to find him and give him hell for making her wait so long for him to come back.

* * *

_…hate this country. Tunisia is just one big sandbox, with sunlight stretching unnaturally late and without cover so that I can’t even leave the hotel until well after sunset. I have sand in more orifices than I thought I possessed; it’s unnatural for a vampire to have to be scrubbing in the places I’ve been scrubbing._

_I didn’t find what I was looking for, but at least I got a good fight out of the bargain. I came here because there’d been rumors of something strange happening in Dougga, strange being good for what I had in mind. Dougga isn’t a proper town anymore, so you know. It’s actually the country’s biggest set of ruins. Roman, I think. I seem to recall someone telling me that on the trip there._

_A band of vampires had set up house in the bowels of one of the amphitheatres, and jumped us when we were poking around, trying to find the entrance to a catacomb we were told existed. The fight was a good one, though it would’ve been better if you’d been there. The bunch were more organized than these bands usually are, and had the swords to back up their swagger. Lucky for me, they didn’t have the skills to match their weapons, and I walked away with a new sword of my own. You’d like it, though I think it’s probably too long for you to handle comfortably._

_I did pick something up for you, though. Don’t worry, I didn’t get it from the vampires I dusted. I got it off one of the merchants down in the square. They do beautiful work here, and since you’re not around to appreciate it, I thought I’d share what little I can of this godforsaken country with you…_

* * *

Unfolding the second piece of paper she’d removed from the envelope, Buffy’s eyes widened at the glint of silver that was taped to the ivory parchment. It was the most delicate filigree bracelet she’d ever seen, so intricately woven that it moved like liquid metal where it hung loose. Before she could remove it from its moorings, though, she saw the script that was elegantly laid out above it…

And froze.

She was still sitting like that five minutes later when a key turned in the lock and Willow slipped inside the room. The redhead opened her mouth to speak, but at the sight of the tears running silently down Buffy’s face, her lips clamped shut, and she rushed forward to sit on the edge of her friend’s bed.

“What’s wrong?” she asked gently, reaching out to stroke Buffy’s arm. Glancing down, Willow saw the paper she gripped, and frowned. “Is Spike being a poophead?”

Wordlessly, Buffy shook her head, handing over the page. She remained silent even as Willow’s mouth made a tiny O, pulling the bracelet from the tape to look at it more closely.

“He sent you this?” she asked.

“From Tunisia. Where is that, anyway?”

“Africa. Wow, this is…it’s beautiful, Buffy. But why are you crying? Did he kill someone to get it for you? Is that why you’re upset?”

“Read what it says above it,” Buffy replied.

She watched as Willow scanned the words, hearing them resound inside her head as clearly as if William was there himself to read them aloud. Even after all that time, she knew most of it by heart, most especially the last verse.

_“But I was lost in a place ‘tween the sun and moon,_  
 _Where firm and figment merged this June,_  
 _And even beyond that place ‘tween moon and sun,_  
 _My love that burns for her is legion.”_

How could she forget that night he’d asked if she would’ve married him? And then again, to hear Spike whisper the intent of the last line so intimately…it had just been too much.

When she was done reading, Willow handed the bracelet and paper back, her eyes now solemn. “You don’t have to tell me,” she said. “I can tell he wrote that.”

“ _William_ wrote it,” Buffy corrected. “Spike’s stealing it.”

“Well, technically it’s not stealing if it was already his---.” She cut herself off at the flash of fury that brightened Buffy’s eyes. “But that’s not what’s important,” Willow hastily added. “What’s important is…what exactly?”

“I don’t know.” The confession made Buffy crumple. Dropping the letter to the blanket, she pulled her legs up to hug her arms tightly around them. “He loves me. I’ve only gotten through seven of his letters, but the one thing that’s coming through loud and clear is that he loves me. How can he do that? He doesn’t have a soul, and he’s evil, and I’m not supposed to look at him and think that he’s William. That’s not the way it’s supposed to be.”

“Is he? Like William, I mean. I thought, from what the journal was like and how you described him, well, Spike’s not exactly known as the sensitive type. Except for, you know, crying like a baby when Drusilla left him. But then he kind of lost all of his sympathy points with the kidnapping and broken bottle threats.”

“See? That’s what I mean. Evil, with a capital E.” Buffy fingered the bracelet. “But then…he writes these things, and he swears to me that he’s going to help as soon as he gets here, and I get all confused.”

For the first time, Willow stiffened. “He’s coming here? Why?”

Buffy chewed at her lip. She knew it was perverse, but she didn’t want to share the reason. It was a promise William had made, and regardless whether or not it was Spike who was keeping it, they were words that had been meant for her ears only. She kind of wanted to keep it that way.

“I don’t think he’s a threat,” she said instead, sidestepping the intent of the question. “If he wanted me dead, he’d be sending me things more deadly than his poetry.” Slowly, she picked up the bracelet, playing with the clasp before carefully setting it on her nightstand. “Did you guys have fun at the Factory?”

“Not that I don’t realize you’re only asking because you’re being all evado-girl, but it was kinda fun, once we got past the ookiness of it being the Death Star Incarnate.” Willow gestured toward the open shoebox. “Are you going to finish reading those? I don’t like seeing you crying, but maybe one of them will have the answers you’re looking for.”

“In the morning, I think. Right now…I just need some sleep to process it all.” Uncurling her body, she scooted to the edge of the bed, hesitating only to give Willow a quick hug. “I’m sorry,” Buffy murmured. “I don’t know why I’m being all emotional about this. They’re just letters and some poetry. No big, right?” She smiled brightly as if to prove her point, though it failed to completely reached her eyes. “Spike’s going to have to do a lot worse if he thinks he can get to me so easily.”

* * *

The pungent scent of blood assaulted him long before he saw the black trickle beneath the front door, and Spike broke into a run, his boots echoing across the stone in the road as he raced around the corner of the tiny house. “Go check on her inside!” he barked, not even bothering to glance at the Watcher struggling to keep up with him.

“What?” Lydia cried. “Why?”

He didn’t have time to answer her. The street was deserted, the stench of death fresh, which meant that the responsible parties had to have left through the back. Vaulting over the low wall, Spike skidded across the damp grass as he swept his gaze around the back garden, listening for telltale hearts, straining to sniff out any unwanted guests. There was nothing. Only the faint traces of humans, too long gone for him to quickly chase and seize, came back to him.

Turning to the house, Spike approached the back door, wondering if he was going to be able to enter. He was pre-empted from trying, though, when it creaked open, and a weary Lydia gazed at him in sadness.

“We were too late,” she said softly, stepping aside to allow him entrance.

Even with the warning, he hesitated at the threshold, lifting his hand to test the barrier anyway. His shoulders slumped when it passed straight through, and he followed Lydia into the house, knowing with every step and whiff of blood what he was going to find.

She led him into the small front room, stopping just inside the door. “I haven’t touched anything,” she murmured. She paused before adding, “I’m sorry.”

The body was splayed across the tile before the front door, as if she’d been trying to escape and hadn’t quite made it to the exit. It was the first time Spike could remember seeing her white hair not in a braid down her back or piled in a knot on top of her head. Instead, it pooled around her face, hiding it from view, the ends staining red where it dragged in the blood that had flowed from her body.

Slowly, he stepped forward, noting the book she must’ve been reading dropped haphazardly to the floor. The _Zohar_? What in hell was she doing reading up on the Kabbalah? Boredom, he reasoned as he neared the body. He’d certainly read a diverse bit over the decades in his attempts to stay entertained.

Crouching down, Spike pushed away the hair that covered her face, and sighed when Rose’s unseeing eyes stared back at him. He’d known already she was dead, but seeing it in such naked display leadened his heart. A pang of sorrow pricked at the edges of his awareness, but he shoved it aside. The seer had made her feelings for him---as a vampire---more than obvious; just because William had had a soft spot for the lady didn’t mean Spike had to.

Still…the last thing he’d wanted was to see Rose dead.

“What does this mean?” Lydia was hovering at the doorway, unwilling to broach the haven that was not her home. “Should I start making arrangements for us to return to London?”

Spike’s eyes were cold when he swiveled his head to glare at her. “You think that’s it?” he demanded. “You really expect me to give up this easy?”

She seemed flustered by his statement, and pushed her glasses up her nose as she attempted to retain her composure. “Rose is the only member of this so-called group of women---.”

“Nothin’ so-called about it. They’re real.”

“Nevertheless, she is--- _was_ , the only connection you had with them. Do you really expect to unearth their secrets about the Slayer without her aid?”

The bint had a point. Without bothering to answer her, Spike turned back to Rose, deliberately distancing himself from the emotions that were swelling inside his gut. He’d spent the past seven weeks trying to find her, convinced there was some kind of connection between her and Esme’s quest for some sort of Slayer power. Rose had told them that her responsibility was to see that the Slayer line was kept pure, by watching over the Watchers who guided them. Plus, she was powerful. How could Spike not hope to tap into some of that for Buffy?

Disappointment made his vision blur, his veins scorching from the fury that was erupting inside. He hadn’t done this to fail. He _couldn’t_ fail. Failure meant that he would be going to Buffy with nothing, that he’d wasted almost two months away from her and could only return to her side as a kicked puppy with its tail tucked between his legs. How could he ever hope to convince her that they could have a future, that he could still be the man she needed at her side, if he couldn’t do this one thing?

Forcing his thoughts to steel, Spike refocused his attention on Rose’s form. A circle of scarlet stained the back of her blouse. Whoever had killed her had literally stabbed her in the back. How bloody ironic that the seer couldn’t even see her own death, he thought. I wonder who she pissed off this time.

His nose suddenly prickled. Stiffening, Spike inhaled deeper, sorting through the scents until he found the one that had infiltrated his spiraling mood, his head tilting and turning to hone in on its location before he straightened with a sharp crack of leather. Two steps was all it took to reach it, and the toe of his boot nudged the cigarillo that still radiated heat from its smashed tip.

“Baltozar,” he growled. His eyes flashed yellow as they met Lydia’s, and he’d crossed the room, his hand a steel vise around her throat as he shoved her against the wall, before she could react.

“Out with the wanker all this time looking for her, huh?” Spike snarled. He ignored the scratches she left in his hand as she clawed to free his grip. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t snap your neck right now, bitch.”


	3. The Crow or Dove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy has started reading Spike’s letters, learning of some of his travels though he hasn’t come clean about what exactly he’s doing, while Spike has discovered Rose’s dead body in Barcelona…

He was cutting off her oxygen and he knew it, but somehow, Spike couldn’t find it in himself to care. He’d lowered his defenses and allowed himself to trust the Watcher, even when his every instinct told him it was reckless to align with her in the first place. Now, faced with the prospect that she had been playing him for a buffoon all along, he felt like a bigger fool than William ever had.

“I…didn’t…” Lydia gasped. Her nails etched scarlet lines into the back of his hand, desperation driving her to struggle, and she was fighting to lash out with other parts of her body, writhing as she tried to lift her knee in defense.

Spike was having none of it, and pressed into her, smelling the sudden rush of her desire as it bloomed beneath her fear. “No more lies,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m tired of bein’ your bloody patsy.”

She shook her head as violently as his hold let her. “Not,” she croaked. “Please…Buffy…”

Only that name could shake his determination. Narrowing his eyes, Spike relaxed his grasp just enough to allow the air to pass into her lungs, watching as she gulped for the reprieve. “What about Buffy?”

“She…she wouldn’t…forgive you.”

With a growl, he let her go, whirling on his heel to prowl around the room as Lydia crumpled to the floor. Bitch was right. Though it hadn’t been discussed, Spike held no illusions that his continued killing would be a sore point with Buffy, and if word somehow got back to her that he’d offed a Watcher to boot, he could say sayonara to any kind of future they might have together. Leave it to Lydia to play into his desire to have that kind of life with the Slayer.

Though she rubbed at her bruised neck, Lydia took special care to keep an eye on the pacing vampire, visibly shrinking every time he came near. “I didn’t have anything to do with this,” she managed to say. “I left Baltozar in the square to go get you. He must have come back here on his own.”

“Not on his own,” Spike said. “There was someone else here with him. Could smell it when we got here.”

“And you thought it was me?”

“Who else would it be?”

It was his fury’s fault. Incensed that Rose had been killed before he could speak with her, Spike had lashed out unthinkingly, even when he knew in the back of his mind that the other who had been here with Baltozar had not been Lydia. He’d spent too much time with the Watcher not to recognize her scent in an instant now, and though he suspected the other to be a woman, it was impossible for it to be his companion.

Lydia cringed when his fist slammed into the wall, plaster shattering around Spike’s hand to dust his arm in white ash. “I thought we’d moved onto trusting each other,” she said, only to choke back a muffled cry when he returned to hover over her.

“You might’ve been sacked by ol’ Quentin,” Spike said, his voice a barely controlled growl, “but that doesn’t take the Watcher out of you, luv, and last time I checked, I was still a vampire. So, no, I _don’t_ trust you, just like you shouldn’t be such a Pollyanna ‘bout why exactly you’re tagging along here. I needed your contacts, and you wanted your story.”

“Buffy---.”

“Say her name one more time, and I’ll tear your throat out, consequences be damned.”

The muscles in her neck tensed as she held firm against his anger, her eyes glistening behind her spectacles. “I didn’t know,” she said, reiterating her claim to ignorance. “Why would I have brought you to him if I thought he was going to do this?”

“You tell me.”

She actually stopped to consider his request. “Baltozar Marroquin is a mercenary for hire. Perhaps our interest sparked him to pursue his own investigation and he found something worth killing her for. After all, William, that’s what he does.”

“Lovely company you keep.” But her words were quickly deflating his mood, leaving Spike empty and frustrated and fervently wishing he’d never come up with this cracked plan. If he’d never launched this foolhardy search for her, Rose would still be alive; he just didn’t know why it was the Spaniard had needed to kill the seer before Spike could speak with her.

“I didn’t want this.” Lydia had completely regained her composure, though her hands kept flitting to her throat, as if she still didn’t quite believe he’d tried to strangle her. “I wanted to find her as badly as you did.”

“Which is why you were so quick to suggest we hop back to jolly old. Right.”

“Only because I know how eager you are to return to the Hellmouth.”

The last of his resolve crumbled, and Spike sagged, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor opposite her. Resting his head in his hands, he pulled at his hair, trying to ignore the churning within that heralded his failure. “She doesn’t want me there,” he rasped, his voice a harsh testament to the pain he could no longer contain. “Don’t know why I’m even bothering. It’s not me she wants. It’s that ponce William. The one she could wrap around her little finger with just a flash of leg and a smile.”

“You don’t believe that.”

He lifted bruised eyes to stare at her. “Then tell me why she hasn’t written back. Tell me how she can just ignore everything I’ve told her. She _knows_ I love her, that I’d do just about anything for her. That’s what this whole bloody idea was about. If she didn’t want me there---.”

“She would’ve told you.” There was a sympathy in Lydia’s eyes that was all too familiar, and Spike had to duck his head again in order not to get scorched by it. “Since when has Buffy Summers refrained from stating her mind? If she didn’t wish your presence, I believe she wouldn’t hesitate to let you know.”

Tears stung behind his eyelids and he burrowed the heels of his hands deep into the sockets, as if to press the weakness into submission. He’d had such high hopes. Finding Rose would mean going to Buffy with something definitive to offer, whatever power it was that the seer and her ilk were so keen on protecting. Now, his only tie to that power was severed, a cold corpse like any other, and he was left with only the detritus that was the old woman’s nomadic life. Of what value was that? How could he hold his head up and stand by the Slayer’s side as her equal if he couldn’t satisfy this one little mission?

“I’ll go see Baltozar today,” Lydia offered quietly. “I’ll pretend not to know about his involvement here. Perhaps I can learn something that would be useful.”

“I should just bloody well give up,” Spike muttered. “That’s what you want. Know you’re only hangin’ about so that you can get more dope for your book. This won’t exactly help your romantic adventure marketing angle, but maybe you can just make a bit of something up instead. Give it a touch of spice to make up for the botch I seem to be so good at.”

“Now _that_ sounds like the William you’ve been complaining about these past seven weeks.” Her voice had hardened, a clipped edge slicing through his malaise to jerk his chin up in astonishment. “Have you forgotten you’ve told me what happened?” she continued. “I _know_ of the changes the Slayer rendered in your human self. You’ve admitted as much, and don’t tell me they were the blatherings of a drunken sot. Contrary to what you may think, I’m not so enamored with the mystery of William the Bloody to not know when a man---or demon, as is your case---is spilling the painful truth like a newfound spring. So, you can sit there, feeling sorry for yourself, attempting to convince yourself of facts you know aren’t true. Or you can get up, clean yourself off, and get back to the hotel before the sun rises so that you’re prepared to face another night of searching for the answers you want. Personally, I’ll be spending my day looking for reason behind Rose’s death. _I’m_ not willing to concede just yet.”

It was the longest speech he’d ever heard her utter. Usually, when Lydia started talking, Spike left the room or found some cruel thing to say to shut her up. He’d enlisted her aid for her malleability and her contacts, not for the company. He wasn’t even aware that she’d been listening on those occasions when he returned from a bender, convinced it was all a big sham. He was going to have to be more careful about what he said, or there would be even more secrets out in the open that he wished to remain hidden.

“So, this self-righteous streak…” he said wryly. “Is this something they breed into you Watchers? Maybe a course at the Academy called ‘The Ins and Outs of Acting Superior?’”

She blushed. “I merely---.”

He waved her silent. Lumbering to his feet, Spike cast one last glance at Rose’s inert form before throwing his shoulders back, tilting his head to audibly crack his neck. “You should give the place a onceover, as long as you’re at it,” he said. His tone was back to being business-like; time to pick himself up out of the blood of Rose’s death and accomplish something that would actually benefit Buffy. “Maybe there’s some hint lurking about in regards to what the tosser was after.”

He didn’t see her nod, but Spike knew she was agreeing with him, even as he took long strides toward the front door. When he reached the book Rose had dropped, he hesitated, bending over to pick it up and flick through its pages before stuffing it into his duster pocket. Religious studies weren’t exactly his thing, but if it was important to the seer, then maybe it held import for him as well.

“Don’t make presumptions about the circumstances in Sunnydale,” Lydia said as he opened the door. She’d already turned away when he looked back at her, her expression hidden. “If this matters to you, then that’s what’s important. The rest…will sort itself out.”

* * *

She found herself standing outside the Factory, its windows black and blank, all remnants of the earlier fete scattered on the ether of memory. By all rights, she should’ve been back at the dorm, curled into her narrow bed and waiting out the night with restful dreams, but images of Spike in the faraway corners of the world that he’d described in his letters kept invading what should’ve been her nocturnal peace, and Buffy had slipped back into the night, restless and hungry for any modicum of amity she could find.

Trampled flyers littered the walk, a slight breeze ruffling edges that weren’t glued to the concrete from the weight of too many feet, and Buffy kicked at a loose sheet as she wandered around the corner of the building. This hadn’t been her original purpose in traversing Sunnydale’s paths at this hour, but her earlier instincts still screamed that this would be a new feasting place for the local demon population. As long as she was out, she might as well give it a pass to see how things were holding.

The results were disappointing, though. The empty alley gaped back at Buffy in desolate solitude, sucking her further into its depths as her eyes scanned the shadows. The faint scent of alcohol and cigarettes hung in the air, tamped butts scattered along the ground, and suddenly, all the images she’d been holding at bay became more than suggestion---

_\---the red cast from the end of Spike’s cigarette outlining his profile---_

_\---the cotton of his shirt against her cheek, soft from wear, the smoke clinging to the weave with a determination so indicative of him---_

\---making her knees tremble, and driving her to perch on an overturned box before they gave out completely.

She _should_ go back to the dorm. Do what she intended and get back to her single bed. Though it was the start of the weekend and she didn’t have to worry about waking for classes, Buffy knew she’d been short of good sleep lately, a combination of too much thinking and a stomach that seemed all jittery from the anxiety of starting college. Even if she didn’t want to sleep, she was pretty sure she could wake Willow and have a long overdue best-friends-fest; their tentative steps to try and cross the chasm that had yawned between them since London had been the highlight of her night.

Consciously, her fingers slipped to her left wrist, stroking the delicate silver that encircled it. OK, maybe just _one_ of the highlights.

After the discovery of the poem and bracelet, Buffy had put away the rest of the letters to finish reading in the morning. It was all too much, especially when there was a tiny voice inside her head shouting in jubilance, released from the fetters she’d bound it in when she’d left William and Spike behind. “Told you so,” it kept shouting. “He loves you. He still loves you. You should’ve had faith.”

Regardless of the fact that its choice of words meant she now had George Michael shimmying relentlessly around in her head, the simple fact of its gloating made her want to give it the smackdown of a lifetime.

Still, there was a part of it that was right, which was yet another reason why Buffy was out and about instead of back in her bed. Dealing with the repercussions of another vampire being in love with her---and this one without a soul---had been torturous at first, hence her quick remedy of ignoring his attempts to reach out to her. With the knowledge now that Spike was merely interested in forging further contact---in a manner that was so quintessentially William---it was impossible to continue dismissing the truth, and time to start figuring out what it meant from here.

Starting with this one task.

Her hand slid into her pocket, fingering the smooth plane and sharp edges of the envelope. It wasn’t much---she’d only had a few minutes while Willow was in the bathroom---but the power of even the few words she’d chosen was starting to erode her will, indecision returning like an unwanted relative. Maybe she should wait. Maybe it would be better not to say anything until she’d finished reading the letters. Maybe---.

The air was forced from her lungs when the sudden attack from her side had her crushed to the ground, the vampire that had sneaked in under her radar pinning her from behind as his hand coiled into her hair.

Buffy didn’t allow the luxury of getting annoyed at her distraction slow her down. Instinct took over and she slammed her head backwards, feeling her skull connect with a bone-rattling crunch to the demon’s jaw, but all it did was elicit a furious snarl from him, his grip contracting even tighter as he bared her shoulder for an attack.

This was _so_ not what she needed right now, Buffy thought as she tried to twist out from underneath him. He outweighed her by a good hundred pounds, as well as seemed at least a foot taller than her, if the fact that her backward kicks kept being met by fleshy thighs instead of knees or shins was any indication. She was about to switch tactics to something that might actually work when the charge of electricity sizzled through the air, followed immediately by a vibrating jolt that emanated from her attacker’s body.

The scrape of footsteps echoed through the alley as the vampire sagged against her, and before Buffy could push the dead weight off, it was gone, not in a cloud of dust as she might’ve expected, but lifted away as if it had been picked up like a doll. Leaping to her feet, she whirled in time to see two dark-shadowed hulks tote the unconscious demon the few feet to a waiting van, the vehicle starting to move before they’d even closed the doors.

“What---?” she started to say, but was stopped by a third person stepping in front of her, blocking her view of the departing van.

“Are you all right?”

He towered over her, his voice deep, and such close proximity showed Buffy that he was wearing army fatigues, his face smeared with greasepaint to mask his features. In his gloved hand, he held what looked to be a stun gun and Buffy realized with a moment of perfect clarity that it was that weapon that had taken out the vampire.

“What are you doing?” she said, instead of answering his question. She gestured furiously at the empty alley behind him. “Do you have any idea what your friends have taken away there? That’s not just a mugger, you know. That’s a---.”

“You shouldn’t be out so late,” he interrupted. He was backing away from her, his weapon still dangling at the ready in his hand. “The streets aren’t safe after dark.”

And then he was gone, swallowed up by the night while Buffy just gaped in disbelief.

Only in Sunnydale, she thought. Where every day was a monument of weirdness. And apparently, selecting Private Benjamin as its current fashion model of choice.

Returning to the street in front of the Factory, the Slayer took in a deep breath, dispelling that which she couldn’t do anything about with the undertaking she could. Her hand slipped into her pocket, the wrinkles and folds that now marred her letter evident beneath her touch, and her step turned firmly back in the direction of campus. There were plenty of mailboxes along the way. She should’ve just done that in the first place instead of stumbling across the Deathwish crew. Of course, this new development gave her something to focus on that wasn’t Spike, so maybe that was of the good. She would have to go see Giles in the morning to see if he’d heard anything about it.

And still…when Buffy stopped before the large metal box, it was the pale visage of Spike that loomed in front of her as she quickly slid the envelope into its depths before she could change her mind. The softer lines of William’s face ghosted over the vampire’s, and she had to swallow hard in order to squelch the sudden rush of emotion in her throat.

_This would be easier if you were actually here._

_I miss you._

_Come back._

She just wasn’t completely sure all of her wishing was directed at the memory of a certain dead poet. She had a sneaking suspicion that the demon wearing his face and stealing his words was part of that wish as well.

* * *

Willow knew the exact moment Buffy slipped out of the dorm room. She’d been pretending to be asleep, because if there was one thing she’d picked up on since getting home from the Factory, it was that Buffy was back in that weird place inside her head she’d been in before going to London. She wasn’t depresso girl this time, but serious thinking always seemed to drag Buffy down, and worrying about Spike most definitely qualified for cold sober contemplation.

As soon as she was alone, Willow pushed off her blankets and went to the window, watching the grounds below until she saw the Slayer head off into the darkness. A quickly uttered incantation set up the warning she would need to alert her to Buffy’s return, and she hastened to crouch beside her best friend’s bed.

She wasn’t going to read the letters. With her burgeoning powers, Willow knew it would be simple to learn their contents without Buffy finding out, but that was an invasion of privacy she wasn’t willing to commit. She did, however, need to know if they contained anything threatening. Spike was still a vampire, and being in the Factory tonight had brought back too-vivid memories of how he’d threatened her with the broken bottle, eclipsing the more recent recollections of their collaboration in London. If there was something Buffy wasn’t sharing---because of a need to protect William’s memory, or a certainty that she could handle any problem Spike might create---Willow wanted to know about it. She wasn’t willing to be the victim of some creepy conspiracy again.

The spell was simple. It wasn’t something she’d picked up in any of her reading, and it wasn’t something she’d been told about in any of her talks with Giles. It was something that was borne from the wake of her contact with Esme, a credence to magics that had previously been veiled from her. Though the Watchers’ Council had questioned her over and over and over again about the repercussions of the power transfer, there were certain details that Willow hadn’t shared; this---this ineluctable surety of spells that had escaped her understanding before---was just one of them.

Not even Giles was aware of how deeply rooted the magic had grounded itself in her. He watched her like a hawk, always taking careful note of her moods, her emotions, quizzing her almost daily about how she was feeling. Always, Willow skated around the truth.

“It’s tough,” she’d admit. “Because I don’t know how much is too much, and sometimes I don’t know where it’s all coming from.”

But that was far as she would take it. How could she possibly convey to him the constant surges that electrified her perceptions, that made the world shimmer in layers of power that she’d never witnessed before? She could see it everywhere now. People wore their power like cloaks. It was more than just an aura; this was both more minimalistic and infinitely complex than such a simple representation.

Sometimes, it hurt her head to look at everyone. Those were times she retired from the world and feigned exhaustion in order not to deal with it.

She was just starting to come to grips with the advantages of such an influx. The best, and easiest, was the basic knowledge that sprung to Willow’s fingertips when she so wanted it. Spells that had been beyond her ken now tumbled from her lips with practiced ease, very much like the warning spell she’d erected at Buffy’s departure. They filled her head with taunts and pleas for usage, but she rarely succumbed to their whim. Too often, they frightened her. It was better to stay on the fringes of such a power than to relinquish what little control she had and enter their realm of dominion.

The threat of an unknown Spike, however, was enough to draw her in, and she readied herself with the boxes to learn their intents.

She didn’t take them out. Taking the lids off the shoeboxes, Willow rested a hand on each, feeling the sharp edges of the paper slivering into her palms. Her breath deepened. Her eyelids fluttered closed.

And she concentrated.

_Dark._ _Always dark. Like sitting in a room without any lights._

_But the paper glowed. Gleamed. As if it was…_

_Effulgent._

_And then it came rushing toward her, burning and careening and so so icy-hot, but it didn’t want to hurt, no hurt no wounds no more pain, and she couldn’t stop it, couldn’t keep it away, helpless against its determined force when it grabbed her hands and took her in and promised to make it all go away---._

Willow’s eyes shot open.

 _Whoa_.

The hair was standing up at the back of her neck, tiny goosebumps pocking her flesh as she slowly withdrew her touch from the boxes. She expected to see her hands---what? Different, somehow. But they looked exactly the same, just slightly tremulous in the aftermath of the spell. Kind of like the rest of her, all wobbly on the inside from the sheer strength of what she’d felt.

She didn’t have to worry about being hurt by Spike. The only thing on his mind was Buffy, and the only thing guiding him at the moment was a depth of love that Willow suspected she’d only touched the tip of. His letters were soaked in it.

Swallowing to rid her throat of the knot that had formed there, Willow carefully replaced the lids on the shoeboxes, tucking the letters safely away just as they had been kept. No wonder Buffy was so confused about everything. She’d actually read his missives, had lost herself in promises that made little to no sense. If Willow got such a surge from just gleaning a taste of their intent, what kind of jolt would the Slayer get from direct contact with the words?

Her body was still shaking when she crawled back into her bed. That was the effect she got most of the time when she tapped into Esme’s power. It was just another reason why Willow wished that she’d never agreed to the trip to London in the first place.

* * *

On the weekend, the city took on a different life, one that pulsed with the transience of tourists’ heartbeats, stank of the sweat of displaced thousands. So different from the staunch regularity of British routine, London during these two days bristled with a vibrant energy that would’ve served Esme well just a few months prior. She would’ve been able to reach out and tap into all those lifeforces, used those spurts of spirit to fuel any number of spells, and none would be the wiser.

Now, of course, she was relegated to watch from the sidelines, monitoring the city’s progression through the limo window as it rushed her to the Council’s private airport.

On the leather seat beside her, Quentin observed Esme with a wary detachment, his fingers drumming silently on the manila envelope that rested in his lap. She was weary of his distrust, even if it was deserved. She would be glad when she was no longer under his heavy-handed scrutiny.

“You’re certain you’re up to this?” he asked for the third time since leaving Council Headquarters.

It would be a relief to be free of his incessant questioning, as well.

“I have little choice,” Esme replied. Her dark eyes assessed his with a directness she knew he didn’t often garner. “If I wish to regain some purpose to my paltry existence, I have to play by your rules. You’ve made that _very_ clear, Quentin.”

“I want to trust you, you know. I’m ignoring all of my advisors’ opinions in allowing you to do this.”

“Am I supposed to feel flattered by that?” She held a wrinkled hand to her chest, and bowed her head in mock obeisance. “Thank you for _such_ an honor.”

Shaking his head, Quentin shifted his gaze to the passing scenery. “You will have only one opportunity,” he said. “I’ve instructed your partner in this to alert me to anything he deems suspicious. That means your best behavior, Esme. Anything less, and you’ll be flown back to London where you’ll serve the rest of your days in far less grandeur than you’ve been allowed thus far.”

“Anything without my powers is less than satisfactory,” she replied, her voice suddenly cold. “I’m merely doing this because I detest being so useless.”

He nodded. “It’s the first time you’ve been without magic since you were a child. Frankly, I’m surprised you lasted this long before agreeing to my arrangement.”

They lapsed into silence, the only sounds within the vehicle the irregular rhythm of the seams in the road. Esme’s fingers itched to cast a confusion spell at the Council Head, snap some of the smug overconfidence off his face, but even such a simple incantation escaped her abilities at the moment. That lack was precisely why she had finally acquiesced to Quentin’s offer. If she couldn’t utilize her magic herself, molding the young witch who now wielded it was the next best thing.

“Is the Slayer aware of my pending arrival?” she asked.

The twitching in his hands was the only hint of his discomfiture. “She will be told,” he replied. “In due time.”

She nodded, as if nothing else could’ve been conceivable. Without her powers, she knew she wasn’t in any position to compel the aid of Buffy Summers. However, it might just be that presumed weakness that would allow Esme to slip past the Slayer’s defenses. She was old, and she was infirm, and if she knew anything about Buffy, it was that the young woman harbored a protective streak a mile wide. Perhaps a deal could be struck.

Besides, it was Esme who was responsible for introducing William Freston into Buffy’s life. The fact that the demonized William hadn’t killed the Slayer---and vice versa---was proof enough that their harbored feelings ran deeper than the norm. Surely, Esme’s part in bringing them together would gain her at least a foothold within the Slayer’s circle.

After all, that was all she really needed.


	4. These Curious Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XXXVIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike has returned to the hotel while Lydia is going to search and find out what she can about Rose’s death, Esme is on her way to Sunnydale, and Buffy has encountered a strange group of demonhunters…

The delicate aroma of sugar wafted through the doorway when it opened, an expectant Giles caught in mid-bite as he stood there in greeting. Buffy’s mouth quirked at the sight of the half-eaten powdered donut he held in one hand and the white speckling around and on his lips, and bit her cheek to keep from laughing out loud as she brushed past him into his apartment.

“I see we’ve skipped straight to the Sugar Vanquishes All Evil portion of our slaying day,” she commented, her eyes falling on Xander and the two pastry boxes that sat open in front of him. She plopped down on the couch. “So which one is this demon susceptible to? Plain, jelly, or cream-filled?”

“We’re still conducting market research,” Xander replied before biting down into his own donut. “Help yourself.”

“Um, that would be no. I already had breakfast.” Truth be told, the sight of the donuts was making Buffy’s stomach unsettle.

“Where’s Willow?” he asked between bites.

“Picking up Oz. They should be here---.” A knock came at the door and Buffy twisted in time to see Giles open it again and reveal the two redheads. “---right about now.”

“Sorry we’re late,” Willow said brightly. “But we come bearing…” Her gaze caught the treats already laid out, and then jumped to the box she carried in her hand. “Oh.”

“No worries,” Xander said. He hopped to his feet and took the box from her hands. “There’s no telling how long this meeting could last. Better to be prepared than to worry about hosting our very own Donner Party.”

“Or be a South American rugby player stuck in the Andes,” added Oz.

Giles grimaced in distaste. “And on that particularly…unsavory note,” he said, “might I suggest we get to the matter at hand?”

The group lapsed into silence, each looking to the other as they waited for someone to speak. “Maybe the matter was on a foot,” Xander finally commented. “Anyone suffering from an ingrown toenail?”

“I’ll go first,” Buffy said. “Not that mine is apocalypse-worthy, but it definitely rates as wiggy.”

“This isn’t about Spike, is it?”

Willow’s blurted question took everyone by surprise, but it was Xander who jumped on it first.

“Spike? Spike’s back in town?” His head whipped around, surveying the agitation in the redhead’s features, the solemn masks put on by Giles and Oz. But it was Buffy’s darting eyes and flushed cheeks that held his attention and he faced off with the Slayer and repeated his questions.

“No, he’s not,” she assured. She turned to Willow. “And no, this isn’t about him. It’s about some weird vigilante group I ran into last night.”

She had to get Xander off the topic of Spike. The last thing she needed right now was to have to go over the events of the summer in greater detail, to witness the hurt on her friend’s face when he found out that he’d been kept in the dark about something as monumental as this. Willow was obviously regretting her too-quick assumption, and chewed at her bottom lip as if that would stop any more from spilling over her tongue. But Buffy couldn’t focus on her. If she did, that would only make Xander jump back to his original questions. And she just couldn’t answer them right now.

Giles was the one who came to her rescue.

“What vigilante group?” he asked. “Did you encounter something unusual while on patrol?”

Briefly, Buffy relayed the events in the alley behind the Factory, omitting the reason she’d left the dorm in the first place. “They got away in a van,” she finished. “By the time I had my head back together to think about following it, they were long gone.”

“And you’re certain it was a vampire that was attacking you?”

She nodded. “Had all the tinglies to prove it.”

“Maybe it’s just some local citizens trying to make a difference,” Willow offered. “After all, not everyone is completely blind about what goes on in Sunnydale. They could just be wanting to take a bite out of crime before someone takes a bite out of them.”

“I don’t think so,” Buffy said. “These guys moved more in sync together than a boy band. Plus, they had their little stun gun toys to zap the vamp with. That doesn’t exactly say fly-by-night operation to me.”

“Unless vigilante groups qualify for funding these days,” Oz said.

“And you say they didn’t kill the vampire?” This was the part Buffy had known would perplex Giles the most. “They merely…towed it away?”

“I saw it with my own two eyes. The only dust in that alley was from the people who came out from the Factory to smoke.”

The young people watched as the Watcher began to pace around the room, processing the information that had been shared. “It would certainly explain a great deal,” he muttered. “A great deal.”

“Someone’s not sharing with the rest of the class,” Buffy prodded.

Giles’ head snapped up. “What? Oh, yes, quite right.” He cleared his throat. “I received a telephone call from England this morning---.”

“No.” She cut him off before he could even finish the sentence. “You are not about to tell us that the Council has something to do with this.”

“No, I’m not. Mr. Travers called regarding another matter, but one of the things he mentioned was that there had been reports of lessened demon frequency in Sunnydale. Reports that didn’t add up to the ones I provided him regarding your slaying.”

“But that’s a good thing, right?” asked Willow. “Fewer demons means less evil in the world and more time for Buffy to have a real life outside of being the Slayer.”

“The Council’s not so certain about that,” the Watcher admitted. “While they’re often aware of the more prolific demon hunters, they haven’t been able to deduce who exactly is responsible for the lowered population here.”

“So tell them it’s these commando guys,” Xander said. “Problem solved.” He turned back to Buffy. “Which means we can go back to why Willow would think Spike was the issue you wanted to talk about.”

“The problem _isn’t_ solved,” Giles said. “Mr. Travers’ primary purpose in contacting us was to inform me that two of the Council’s operatives would be arriving soon. And that I’m to give them my complete support in their new assignment.”

This drove the Slayer to her feet. “Just because you’re back on Council payroll,” she said, her tone brittle, “doesn’t mean they get the right to start riding slipshod over my life again. I’ve slipped enough shod from them for a lifetime.”

“Contrary to what you might think, Buffy, this isn’t about you.” He switched his spectacled gaze to the redhead sitting on the floor between Oz’s legs. “This is about Willow.”

“Me?” It was Willow’s turn to rise. “What did I do?”

“Nothing. The Council is still concerned about the effects of the magic infusion you received, as am I, to be frank. They’re sending two…experts to aid me in helping you integrate the new power more efficiently.”

“She doesn’t need Council experts,” Buffy argued. “She needs time.”

“She’s _had_ time,” Giles countered. “And on this matter, I’m afraid I agree with Mr. Travers’ assessment. The longer Willow takes to come to grips with her powers, the more difficult it will be to make it a smooth transition.”

“But I _am_ all transitioned,” said Willow. The color had risen in her cheeks, prompting Oz to stand and settle a soothing hand in the small of her back. “I don’t want to play lab rat any more for Watchers I don’t know. Hoops and mazes? Not so much with the fun, surprisingly enough.”

“You won’t be. I’ve made it very clear that I will be the one in charge of this, and as for the others, well…you know at least one of them, so it won’t be completely unfamiliar for you.”

The young people waited for Giles to elaborate, but when it became apparent that he wasn’t going to, Buffy sighed in exasperation.

“Please tell me it isn’t that Lydia,” she said. “I think both Will and I had our share of her in London.”

The Watcher’s mouth thinned. “No, it’s not Lydia,” he said. “He wanted to come to this meeting this morning, but I insisted that I tell you that he would be involved with this before he arbitrarily showed up.” He cleared his throat, his discomfort in stating the name obvious. “It’s Wesley.”

Eyes widened all around the group. “But he quit from Watcherdom,” Willow said.

“Actually, he was fired, but that’s neither here nor there. The Council has contracted him for this one assignment only, both because his knowledge of magic is almost as extensive as mine, and, well, because he’s already here. They thought it would be a more conducive environment for you, Willow, if you were comfortable with those guiding you.”

“You said ‘others,’” Buffy prompted.

“Yes, the third is a witch from the Council’s coven. Mr. Travers didn’t give me her name, though.”

With a dejected plop, Willow collapsed into the chair, her mouth drawn in a sulky pout. “And that makes just perfect sense,” she groused, “considering they couldn’t understand Esme’s magic when it was actually _in_ Esme.”

“Actually, I kind of like the idea.” Oz perched on the arm of the chair, ignoring the surprise from the rest of the group to focus on his girlfriend. “You had a lot of power thrust onto you without any warning. I’d rather you had someone help you deal with it than watch you implode from trying to deal with it yourself.”

“But…it’s Wesley,” she protested weakly.

Oz shrugged. “Wesley came through when it really counted,” he said. “That’s enough for me.”

“If memory serves, Wesley ended up on a _stretcher_ when it really counted,” Xander interjected.

“But he did try,” Buffy said. “Which already rates him higher than any of those jerks back in England. Not that I’m necessarily agreeing with putting you through the wringer again if you don’t want to be wrung, but at least Wesley’s a known quantity.”

They waited as Willow mulled over all of their words, finally granting them a small smile. “I guess I’m just not used to being important enough to fuss over,” she said. “But if you guys think it’s all for the best---.”

“That’s my brave little toaster,” Xander said with a wide grin. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them in anticipation. “OK, so that’s agenda item number two taken care of. Does anyone else have anything to talk about before Buffy explains what the deal is with Spike? No? Good.” He turned to the Slayer. “Spill.”

His brown eyes were ingenuous as he regarded her, but rather than soothe Buffy as they usually did, she began to squirm in unease. There was no way he was going to understand this. He’d hated Angel from day one, and Angel had had a soul. How could Buffy even begin to hope that Xander would be sympathetic about her encounters with William? Worse, how could she explain what had transpired between her and Spike? Only Willow was aware of those details, and that had been tough enough to share.

But she hated the thought of lying to him. When she’d hidden the truth about Angel’s return from the gang, it had taken ages for them to return to that place of trust they’d always shared. If she lied again, what were the odds that Xander would never forgive her this time?

She took a deep breath. “There’s a chance Spike is coming back to Sunnydale,” she said carefully. It wasn’t the truth as Xander wanted to hear it, but it wasn’t a fib, either, since she hadn’t actually had a chance yet to finish the letters to confirm or deny the statement.

“What?” Xander exclaimed. “Why?”

Buffy cast a furtive glance around, but none of the others seemed perturbed by her announcement. Of course, Willow already knew about the possibility, and Oz couldn’t be flapped if someone tied huge wings to his arms, but it was the non-reaction in her Watcher’s face that took her by surprise. She’d expected a scowl, or at least an “Oh, Buffy;” all she got was a duck of his head and an averting of his eyes.

“He…has unfinished business here,” she managed to say.

“And you know this how?”

“He told me.”

“When?”

Shit. She should’ve known he was going to go there. “When I saw him in London.”

“You _saw_ him? And you didn’t stake him?”

Trying not to notice the incredulity in Xander’s eyes, Buffy folded her arms over her queasy stomach. “It’s complicated,” she said. “And I didn’t really have time, remember? There was that whole turned Slayer thing I was trying to resolve.”

“But you had time to have a heart-to-heart with the vamp who made our lives miserable for two years?” Xander shook his head. “Don’t tell me he pulled another sob story about losing the love of his pathetic unlife again. That’s too sad, even for Spike.”

“I told you, it’s complicated.” She repeated it through gritted teeth. Her stomach was roiling, her nerves like frayed rope. “What does it matter, anyway? He’s not here now, and we’ve got other issues to be worried about in the meantime.”

“It matters because he kills Slayers.”

“He’s not going to kill me.”

“How do you know that?”

And there it was. The million dollar question. The one she could lie through her teeth about and potentially lose Xander as a friend if he ever discovered the truth, or confess everything and still potentially lose Xander because of his vamp hate. It was a lose-lose situation, no matter what angle she tried to look at it.

She wasn’t even aware when Willow appeared at her side, her hand gently touching Buffy’s arm. “Are you OK?” the redhead asked. Buffy turned her head to meet Willow’s worried gaze. “You don’t look so hot.”

“I’m---,” she started, but it was in that moment that her stomach chose to revolt, and she bolted for the bathroom, slamming the door open and crouching over the toilet just in time for the remains of her breakfast to come rushing back up.

Her throat burned from the heaving, and by the time Buffy lifted her head, Willow had arrived with a glass of water, offering it without a word. She gulped it down, surprised that her stomach felt almost normal again, and glanced guiltily back at the others who had congregated at the open door.

“Sorry about that,” Buffy said. “I guess I must be coming down with some sort of bug.”

“You should go back to the dorm and rest,” Giles said. “From the sound of it, you haven’t been getting much sleep since your classes started. You won’t do anyone any good if you push yourself too hard too fast.”

“I’ll drive you,” offered Oz.

She just nodded. She didn’t want to tell them that she was already feeling better, that retching out the contents of her stomach seemed to do the trick to get rid of the queasiness, but Giles probably had a point. If she was getting sick, it was better to nip it in the bud now rather than get even sicker later on.

It also gave her a good excuse to lie around in bed, finishing off Spike’s letters. Buffy kept her head bowed so that the others wouldn’t see the satisfied gleam in her eyes. Rest was of the good, every way around.

* * *

It wasn’t dusk yet, though it was very close to it, the long fingers of sunlight tinged in orange where they slithered around the edges of the drawn curtains. In the narrow line of the bed, Spike stretched, his muscles replete from the hours of slumber he’d gained even though his mind was not, and his eyes opened to stare up at the plaster ceiling.

He’d dreamt of the battle with April. Not the one at the Watcher’s house when he’d finally had the chance to snap that Nathan bastard’s neck. The one with Buffy back in the day, when a horrified Rose had hurtled the spell into the garden to try and protect her husband from the vampire’s clutches.

It had gone slightly differently in his dream, though. Instead of capturing the turned Slayer in the crystal collection, Rose’s spell had ricocheted back, her magic slicing into her fragile flesh like a knife through butter, and she’d fallen to a crumpled heap on the porch. Her blood was already dripping onto the steps by the time William could reach her, and his hands had turned scarlet the moment they touched her unbreathing body. It had only been the threat of losing Buffy that had torn him away, and he’d spent the remainder of the dream trying to get his Slayer to safety without the seer’s aid.

It was impossible to deny any longer the emotion gurgling within Spike’s gut.

Regret.

And grief.

Squeezing his eyes tightly shut again, Spike tried to will away the tears that had sprung in their corners as he remembered her from that fateful night. There was so much that had occurred that infuriated him, but that had all come after. During the course of those hours, when Rose had made it possible for William to show his strength in battle once and for all, and then afterward, when she’d maintained every composure as she ensured he got Buffy to safety, she had been golden, as formidable as his staunchest enemy but as compassionate as his own mother. He would always be grateful to her for giving him the chance to show his worth to Buffy, and, even more importantly, to prove his worth to himself.

She was a good woman.

She shouldn’t have had to die that way.

Shaking his head, Spike leapt from the bed, cracking his neck and joints as he forced his body into action. Better to do. Better to not think. He had plans to make and a death to avenge.

He couldn’t wait to sink his fangs into Baltozar. That was one kill he planned on savoring the old-fashioned way. With hours and hours of torture. And maybe some disemboweling. He hadn’t enjoyed a really good evisceration since before Sunnydale.

He was freshly showered and slipping into a pair of jeans when he heard the suite door open. Grimacing when the familiar call of his name floated from the front room, he turned his back on the door to rummage through the dresser, pretending to be more concerned about which of the black tees to wear than Lydia’s impending arrival.

The knock came, along with the repeat of “William?” but Spike grabbed hold of his routine slighting and held firm; part of him was still pissed at the Watcher for her unsuspecting role in Rose’s death. Besides, she would just enter of her own accord anyway. Spike was convinced she was hoping to catch him starkers one of these days; in spite of her protestations to the contrary, she still harbored more than a passing attraction to him.

“I’m so glad you’re up,” she said as she stepped into the room. “I’ve so much to---.”

“Save it.” Settling on a shirt, he pulled it over his head, deliberately flexing the muscles in his back for her benefit, and then smirking unseen at the slight acceleration in her pulse. Fuck, she was so bloody predictable. It was a good thing this was a temporary arrangement between them. Any more time spent with the bint, and he’d be driven batty from the boredom.

“Did you find Baltozar?” he asked. He turned to his desk and began slipping his things into his pockets---some loose bills, his lighter. Spike’s eyes fell on the writing supplies carefully arranged in the corner, and mentally calculated how long he’d have to write his daily note to Buffy. It would likely have to be a short one this time; he had a feeling the night was going to be busy.

“No,” Lydia admitted. _That_ got his attention, and though she paled at his angry scowl, she didn’t back away. “By the time I got to his place, he was gone.”

“Then what the bloody fuck are you doin’ back here?” Spike demanded. “I don’t keep you around for your company, you know. Find him.”

She ignored his gibe. “I already have. Or I’ve found where he went to, at least.” Stepping aside, she tilted her head toward the outer room. “Come. I’ve brought some things I think you’ll want to see.”

He followed her out to the tiny sitting room, his frown deepening when he saw the box sitting on the lone chair. “What’s this?” he asked, crossing to start pawing through its contents.

“Rose’s effects,” she replied. “Or at least, those that I thought would be of interest to you.”

It was a hodgepodge of items.

The first thing he pulled out was a journal that looked fairly new. A quick flick through it revealed entries detailing Rose’s life of the past few weeks. Spike sat that one aside to look at more closely when he was done.

The next he pulled out was a small wooden box, its top intricately carved. Lifting the lid, he saw an assortment of jewelry, including the simple band he remembered she’d worn when living her life as Mrs. Rhodes-Fanshaw. He quirked an eyebrow at Lydia.

“Nicking the valuables, too?” he commented. “Knew I’d have an influence on you, sooner or later.”

“Jewelry often has symbolic resonance when it comes to magic,” she explained. “And since Rose’s powers were still so unknown to us, I presumed it was better to be safe than sorry.”

He resumed his examination. Most of it meant nothing to him; Lydia had obviously been a bit overzealous in her acquisitions. But then, at the bottom, a worn atlas caught his eye, and his head tilted as he pulled it out.

Its cover was bent and wrinkled, the edges soft from frequent thumbings. Half the index page had been torn away, revealing the bottom half of the British Isles on the sheet below it. When Spike slowly turned it over, his gaze was immediately drawn to the graceful lilt of red script written over the Atlantic Ocean.

_Machynlleth._

The world tunneled around him, fixing his eyes on the land mass of Wales. She’d known. Somehow, Rose had known he’d been looking for her. He’d always wondered why it was they’d always seemed to be one step behind the seer, and now he thought he understood. She’d watched him do it, every inch of the way.

Page after page, Spike watched the path of his and Lydia’s journey unfold. Every stop, every city, every country…it was all documented with the same crimson writing, an occasional note adding detail that only confirmed his suspicions.

Lydia watched him intently. “She knew,” she said softly.

“Can see that.”

“I think…I think she was leading us here.”

He looked up at that. “You spot a pattern I don’t?” Spike asked.

“Not there,” she said. Taking the atlas from his hands, Lydia set it to the side to pick up the journal he’d already discarded. She flipped it open to a recent entry, handing it over to him and watching him as he skimmed it over.

His lips thinned as the anger inside rekindled. “Son of a bitch!” Spike roared. He sent it hurtling against the far wall, the papers ruffling as the impact created a large hole in the plaster where it hit.

Even from beyond the grave, Rose was manipulating him like a puppet. Just like she’d stripped the memories of Buffy from him for over a century, she was leading him around by the short and curlies on what was inevitably a wild goose chase. Why? Why would she do this? What could she possibly have to gain?

And then he knew.

And the regret he’d felt at her death vanished.

She was keeping him away from Buffy. That could be the only reason.

“There’s more.”

The calm of Lydia’s voice cut through his rage, and Spike’s gaze swiveled to stare at her. “You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

Her eyes fell to the atlas, and she flipped to a page in the back. Without saying another word, she turned the book around so that it was right-side up for him, and Spike glanced down to see what it was she was showing him.

_Zohar_.

Written elegantly along the California coast.

It took only a few strides to return to his bedroom, to grab the book he’d taken from Rose’s and to open it up to the title page. There was the red ink again.

There was his confirmation.

_To William._  
 _I’m sorry I didn’t believe._  
 _Don’t give up._  
 _Rose_

He couldn’t tear his eyes from the words. It was the last thing he’d expected to see, and yet again, his emotions were doing a tap dance into the realm of irresolution. How was he supposed to stay mad at her when she pulled a stunt like this? And what the hell did all of it mean, anyway?

“She’s still leading us.”

His shoulders slumped. He didn’t want to listen to Lydia’s over-idealistic assessments of the situation. He wanted to take a break from pointless searches for Slayer powers, and seers who could never speak plain, let alone play it straight when it mattered. He just wanted to bury himself in Buffy; if he couldn’t feel her within his arms or hear her voice against his skin, then he’d settle for the verse writing to her always seemed to inspire these days.

“Don’t care,” Spike said, dropping the book back to the nightstand. He crossed to the desk and settled in the chair. “Get out. Need some time to get my head back on.”

As soon as he felt the pen in his grip, some of the tension began to unknit from his limbs. This was his best escape for now. There was something therapeutic in the ink and paper, something that had been lost to him for years before recovering the memories of those fateful weeks with Buffy. He just needed that haven for a moment. It would inevitably help him resuscitate the will to see this through.

When he realized that Lydia hadn’t moved away from the doorway behind him, he said, “Thought I told you to get out.”

“You can’t hide from this.”

“Who said I was hiding?”

“You’re writing to Buffy, aren’t you? You do this every time you start to lose faith in what we’re doing.”

Spike squared the sheet of paper, taking a second to relish the heavy feel of the weft along his fingertips before picking up his pen again. “Sod off, Lydia.”

“But---.”

“I said, sod off!” His head whipped around, his forehead ridged, eyes gleaming in bright yellow from the frustration wending through his veins. She visibly jumped at the sight of his gameface; it was the first time he’d turned it directly on her since their first week together. It did what he wanted, though.

“There is more,” she said, her voice quavering as she backed out of the doorway. “And it is time-sensitive. When you’re ready to hear it, I’ll be in my room.”

Then, she was gone, and Spike exhaled at the sound of the door closing behind him. He wouldn’t make it a long letter. Though he didn’t want to admit it to her face, Lydia was right about one thing. He couldn’t hide from what he’d started, as much as the desire to do so may overtake him.

Setting the nib to the paper, he watched the sheet soak up the flow of ink like a man long-lost in the Sahara.

_Dear Buffy…_

* * *

They made a striking couple as they strode down the Heathrow walkway. Both were tall, both dark, and they carried themselves with a feral grace that had people shying to the side to allow them to pass with a wide berth. As the clerk watched them approach her terminal, she unconsciously straightened, trying to draw herself higher than her normal five and a half feet, but she still had to look up to address them.

“May I help you?” she asked brightly when they stopped before her.

The man leaned against the counter, and the clerk’s eyes were drawn away from his swarthy features to where his sleeves rode up. Both of his muscled forearms sported tattoos; on the right was a sword with blood dripping from the blade that disappeared beneath his shirt, and on the left was a woman, hair long and flowing as she seemed to be bent backwards in supplication. The ink was faded, indicating the age of the marks, and it struck her that he must’ve got them as a teenager because he couldn’t be more than thirty now.

“We’re here for our connecting flight from Barcelona,” he said.

His words were heavily accented, though there was a refinement to his tone that she found incongruous to his appearance. He wore his hair shaggy, his sideburns thick and down almost to his jaw, and his clothing did little to hide his heavy muscles. Not good-looking, but…arresting, she decided. If he hadn’t spoken, she would’ve thought he was a laborer of some sort.

“Tickets and passports, please.”

The woman who accompanied him never looked up as the man passed over the documentation. She wasn’t as dark as her partner, but her features were just as strong. A long nose that was probably just a bit too big for her face. A wide mouth that was currently pinched tight in obvious tension. Like Julia Roberts, but not pretty, the clerk thought. She’d called girls like that in school, “horsey.”

As the clerk began to process their check-in, her gaze surreptitiously slid up, through her lashes, to watch the two speak, their bodies turned slightly away for privacy, their voices low.

“You can sleep on the plane,” he said.

“I don’t think I’ll sleep until this is over,” the woman replied. Hers was a different accent. Maybe East European, the clerk thought.

“You worry too much.”

“We’re still alive, aren’t we?”

The clerk tried not to let the effect of her eavesdropping show on her face, lifting her eyes back to the pair with a smile she’d perfected after too many years in customer service. “Everything was sorted for you when you checked in, in Barcelona,” she said, passing back their paperwork. “We’ll be starting to board in half an hour. Have a good flight.”

Without another word, the pair turned away to sit, and she noticed then the piercings on the back of the woman’s neck. Four silver studs adorned the shaved nape in a trapezoidal shape, a pixie haircut showcasing them for everyone to see, and the clerk was struck with sudden morbid curiosity in how they could be affixed into place. The Americans are going to have a fun time with these two at arrival, she mused, but as soon as the next customer came up for service, all thoughts of the odd pair vanished from her head. Her job put her into contact with a vast variety of people. Baltozar Marroquin and Havi Aronowicz were just two more faces in the merging crowd.


	5. Do I Not Think on Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXLIX.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Lydia returned with Rose’s effects, showing Spike that the seer deliberately led them to Barcelona; Giles has informed the group that Wesley will be aiding in helping Willow adjust to the magic; and a queasy Buffy has returned to her dorm to finish reading Spike’s letters…

_Dear Buffy,_

_Nothing new to tell, so I suppose you’re wondering why I’m writing. Have you thought about why you’re getting more of these? Why hardly a day will go by when word of me doesn’t reach you? I can just see you, sitting on a crypt in Restfield waiting for a fledge to rise with one of my letters in your hands as you read it. You wear a skirt, something short and flirty and entirely inappropriate for slaying but one that would make a blind man hard for the spread of glorious skin it exposes. Your hair is pulled up and off your face, but it’s hot and it slips from its holder to stick to your cheeks in faint tendrils. You gleam from the heat, and occasionally that luscious lower lip of yours juts out so that you can blow upward to cool your brow…_

_Damn. I’ve gone and got hard just imagining that. Wish I was there to see it personally._

_Of course, I know it’s all rubbish. There’s hardly enough light at Restfield for you to be reading out there at night, and the fact that I’ve yet to hear from you makes me suspect that the letters aren’t lasting long enough to make it back out of the house, if in fact you’re reading them at all. So asking if you’re wondering why I’m writing borders on the arrogant because the only one who probably cares is me._

_Still, I’m going to tell you. On the off-chance that you are reading these and just not ready to respond._

_I stopped writing anything for a long time. No journal, no poetry, nothing. After I was turned, there was a period where I wanted to be everything William wasn’t. I can’t really say that period entirely ended until I regained my memories of our time together. I’m still not eager to return to much of him, but I hate less of it, and knowing there are aspects of William that reach into your heart in ways that Spike can’t, I’ve been a bit more open-minded about certain things._

_Like my writing._ _I dabbled with my poetry off and on over the years, but never anything serious and certainly nothing anyone ever saw much of. Angelus used to mock me about it, taking my verses and reading them out loud in jest just as David Howard and his bunch did back in the day. So, it lost a lot of its pleasure for me, and it wasn’t until I remembered your responses to William’s words that the desire to return to it trickled back. I’d forgotten how pleasurable it could be to put my feelings down, to keep them from burning too brightly inside and scorching everything away._

_Writing to you helps with that. Even when it’s not a note to let you know what’s happening, where I am, I’ve begun to compose again, though I imagine I’m more than a tad rusty after not doing so for such a long time._

_You are my muse, my love. You inspire me to try and reach for that which I can’t touch. I take solace in losing myself in words you invite, even when it means I may ramble without cause._

_Like now, perhaps._

_Yours always,_

_William_

* * *

_Dear Buffy,_

_A little birdie’s let me know you and Red are in the dorms now. It must feel good to be out on your own. Don’t forget about your mum, though. She’s probably got a bit of empty nest syndrome happening._

_When do your classes start? They’re probably not too exciting yet; you have to get a lot of the boring introductory stuff out of the way first, right? Any thoughts yet about what you’re going to want to study? And don’t give me that short Slayer life expectancy crap that you pulled the last time I brought this up. OK, you thought I wasn’t real at the time, and you were probably more than a little afraid of letting William in too much, but…this is me, love. There’s no reason to hide. Tell me what you really want._

_I can tell you what I want. You. I miss you. I miss our talks. I know there’s probably a reason you haven’t written back yet, but it doesn’t make the missing you any less. I dream about you constantly. I wake up hard and desperate to touch you, to hear the sound of your voice, to feel you curled up against me. I usually go out at that point and kill something to work off some of the frustration, but often, that just makes it worse because I start imagining you in the dance, how you would’ve taken a particular nasty down, and I find myself missing you all the more. How is it you have this power? Sometimes, I think if I could take it away from you, I would. It would certainly make my existence a touch easier._

_I can’t, though. Because to take it away would be to stop loving you, and I just don’t see that happening._

_Is that why you don’t write back? I know you promised me nothing, but if you’re afraid of telling me that you don’t feel the same way, don’t be. I’m a big vamp. I can take it. I may not like it, but then that’s not what this is all about, is it?_

_Write. Please._

_I just need to know you’re still there._

_Yours always,_

_William_

* * *

_Dear Buffy,_

_We’re in_ _Barcelona_ _now. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to this neck of the woods, but I have a feeling we might be here for a bit. Signs are good that what we’re looking for is here. If it is, that means I’ll be on my way to you straight after. You have no idea how much I love that notion._

_I’m not going to ask you any more to write me back. If you haven’t done it yet, I sincerely doubt you will. You must have your reasons, but, I’ll admit, it’s eating me not knowing what they are. I always picture the worst. You’re dead and nobody’s bothered to tell me. You’re seeing some other bloke and you’re too busy shagging his brains out to fuss with letting me know. Red’s magic has turned Sunnydale into a big sinkhole and you’re lying helpless at the center. And those are just the ones that don’t involve blood and gore._

_But that’s OK. Because I made you a promise and it doesn’t matter if you want it or not. I can’t imagine a world without you in it, and I’ll do whatever it takes to guarantee you’re here for as long as possible. Call me selfish if you want, though it shouldn’t surprise you. Vampire, remember? Plus, I love you, which pretty much compounds the need to make sure you’re safe and sound. So you see, I’m fucked any way you look at it._

_That was a joke, by the way. Just in case you didn’t get it._

_The being fucked part._

_Loving you is never a joke._

_Picked up another little something for you, but I’ve decided I’m going to hold on to this particular trinket until I can give it to you in person. I don’t think that’s going to be much longer, and the desire to see the look on your face when you get it is too great to resist. Regardless of what you may think of me, I think you’ll like it._

_Yours always,_

_William_

* * *

Her hands were shaking when she set the last of the letters down. It had arrived on Friday morning, but the date at the top of the page was Thursday’s. Whatever mystical means Spike had arranged for receiving letters from Buffy must’ve been applied to those he sent out; they were taking only a day to reach her. That could only mean that he was still in Barcelona. The thought that if she knew where he was staying, she could actually _call_ him, hear his voice for real and not in her dreams, flitted through her mind, and then she laughed out loud, a harsh, mocking sound, to think she could be that frivolous.

He was hurting. Any other time and any other vampire, and Buffy would’ve thought that a good thing, but this was _Spike_ , and not once in all the letters had he even gone as far as call her a bad name. She didn’t doubt that he probably thought them. His latest note spoke loud and clear that he didn’t understand why she hadn’t bothered to at least tell him to fuck off. But he’d retained his dignity with his written words, and she knew without having to ask that he did it in deference to a kinder, gentler soul.

If that had been all, she might have been able to dismiss it as part of the consequences in choosing the path he had. But…there was more. Much more. And that more changed everything for her.

All of Spike’s letters came with a poem, or part of a poem, words that took the sentiment of William and coated it with the experience of a century’s lifeblood. Some were more polished than others, and some carried with them the tinge of a hunger that made her almost frightened to finish, but more than enough literally took her breath away. As she’d read them, over and over until the words were etched indelibly into her memory, Buffy had fought back the tears more than once, emotion overwhelming her for seconds before she harnessed it back under her control. She didn’t know why they would make her weepy. It was most likely just the ache of remembering too much.

She was glad that she had found the strength to send out the short note she had, but suddenly, it wasn’t enough. Pushing aside the shoeboxes, Buffy rose from her bed and crossed to the desk, grabbing her favorite pen and her notepad before staring down at the blank page. What could she say to him? Should she take the time to explain why it had taken so long for her respond? How could she voice it for Spike when she was so inadequate in voicing it for herself?

She stared at the page for a long five minutes before the tip of her pen ever touched it, and even then, finding the words, knowing what to say and how to say it without sounding glib or bitchy or insincere, was excruciating.

* * *

_Dear Spike,_

_I think I owe you an apology. You’ve been writing me all these letters and sending me all this beautiful poetry, and this is only the second one you’ll get from me. I could lie and say I didn’t get them until recently, but, well, that would be a lie. Even when I didn’t think William was real, I didn’t lie to him, and I can’t do it now. So, I’m sorry._

_I didn’t read your letters until a couple days ago. To be honest, I was scared. I didn’t know what they would say. That’s an excuse, I know, but it’s also the truth. I just finished them right before writing this, so I know you’re in_ _Barcelona_ _now. That’s in_ _Spain_ _, right? Ha ha, just kidding. I know it’s_ _Spain. I bet it’s pretty._

_You still haven’t told me what it is you’re doing with all your globetrotting. Is that such a good idea? Maybe it’s something I can help with. Unless you’re on some evil quest to end the world, in which case I’m going to have to kick your ass. That was another joke, you know. The evil quest part. I know you’re not. Well, I hope you’re not. It’s just hard to be quippy without having you right here._

_Everything’s hard. Willow is still trying to figure out how to deal with her magic booster, and now the Council has decided she needs help and are sending Wesley and one of their witches to help Giles sort it all out. At least she’s got Oz to help her be strong. You remember Oz, right? Still a werewolf. Still playing guitar. Not at the same time, of course, because of the whole claw issue not to mention the fact that he’d more likely to smash it than play it._

_Xander_ _freaked out on me today about you. I’d never told him everything that happened this summer and_ _Willow_ _let it slip that I’d been in contact with you. I still haven’t told him. I don’t know how. He hates vampires so much, and you’re probably second on his master list of vampires he’d like to personally stake. You know, because of that whole kidnapping thing with the factory when Cordelia got hurt._

_Did you know someone actually bought the factory and turned it into a club? It’s still called the Factory, though, and they were really stingy on the decorating budget, but it’s kind of cool in a techno kind of way. And loud. God, that makes me sound like my Mom, doesn’t it? I’m not old, honest. There really is an eighteen-year-old college student inside this Slayer package. But apparently, her ears aren’t exactly what they used to be._

_I wasn’t going to ask, but wanting to know is killing me here so I’m just going to come out and do it. You’ve mentioned a couple times in your letters something about a “we.” Whatever it is you’re doing, are you doing it with someone else? And that really, really, really sounds like me being a nagging girlfriend, doesn’t it? It’s not how I mean. It’s just you’ve never been big with the teamwork and the only person I know you’ve spent a lot of time with was Drusilla and no, that doesn’t mean I think you’re back with her but I can’t for the life of me figure out who this other mysterious person is or why it’s so important for you not to tell me who it is. I’m not making any sense. If I hadn’t written so much already, I’d start over and leave this whole paragraph out, but this is taking me way too long already. I just wanted this letter to be a good one._

_So, never mind. Forget I asked. I know you’ll tell me when the time is right._

_Your letters meant a lot to me. I’m sorry I took so long to read them. That won’t happen any more._

_OK, I think I’m starting to babble now which is usually a pretty good sign to cut me off. You’re not the only one who can ramble, I guess._

_Writing this was good. I’m glad I did it. I hope you like it._

_I still miss you._

_Buffy_

_PS: Thank you for the bracelet. It’s beautiful._

* * *

She stared at the page in front of her, trying to ignore the scattered remains of her first efforts balled up around the desk. It seemed so pitiful compared to the eloquence of Spike’s letters. Babbling about the Factory? How lame was that? And the whole section about wondering who he was traveling with made her sound like some psycho girlfriend. Spike already had had one of those; he didn’t need another.

Buffy froze.

Had she really thought of herself as his girlfriend?

She hadn’t meant to. She didn’t think of herself like that. She couldn’t. The only non-antagonistic time she and Spike had spent together had been that night on the banks before she left London.

And the hours she’d spent reading his letters.

And the weeks when he was alive and William.

Buffy swallowed, her throat suddenly too dry. Her fingers were shaking again as she folded the paper and stuffed it inside an envelope. Don’t think, she told herself. Just do. Get the letter mailed, and let the rest of it fix itself.

She just wasn’t sure what exactly was broken.

* * *

He was late. A flat tire near the college campus had delayed his arrival by nearly three hours, and he was certain that Giles would look at him quite askance for his tardiness. After all his arguments about being a necessary ingredient to their Scooby meeting, Wesley was convinced he was going to look quite the prat for now failing to make their arranged appointment, all excuses aside. This was not how he wanted this endeavor to begin.

It wasn’t as if he was attempting to regain favor with the Council by taking on this consultancy for them. Mr. Travers had made it perfectly clear that this was a one-time assignment and that there would be no offer of a permanent position following its completion.

“Your prior conduct is still an affront and disappointment to many of the Council members,” the Head had said.

_Translation: Your prior conduct embarrasses your father and his opinion still matters to anyone who might approve your reinstatement to the ranks._

“Miss Rosenberg’s cooperation was less than ideal when she was here,” Travers had added. “It’s our opinion that she will respond more positively to someone with whom she is familiar.”

_Translation: Miss Rosenberg isn’t threatened by you. You are entirely innocuous._

“I’m sending Esme out to assist you. She’s completely harmless without her magic, but should you find her behavior suspect in any way, I trust that you’ll take the appropriate action.”

_Translation: We don’t trust even this most simple of tasks to just your expertise._

There had been other information---instruction on how Giles would likely be threatened by Esme and to keep them separate as much as possible, the story of Buffy’s encounter with the turned Slayer and the surprise assistance from William the Bloody---but Wesley had merely filed it away for reference.

He hadn’t accepted the assignment because of any allegiance to the Council; his demon hunting throughout the American southwest for the past month had helped him take small steps in regaining his independence. Nor had he taken it for fear of what his father might do or say should he turn it down, though certainly, if he excelled at this particular task, it would likely ease his relations with both of his parents.

No, he took it for a much more personal reason, one that he didn’t voice out loud to the Council Head when he accepted the position. His less than exemplary performance during the graduation ceremony made Wesley itch to make restitution with the Slayer and her friends. If his guidance could help Willow better control her magic and turn her into a valuable asset for the Council and the fight against evil, it would be a worthy step in redressing his failures.

The motorcycle rumbled to a halt in front of the block of flats, and he kicked the stand down before casting an eye toward Giles’. In spite of his calm exterior, his stomach was aflutter at the thought of standing before Buffy and the others as a representative of the Council again. Her disdain for their authority would taint their communications, just as it had affected his attempts to be her Watcher the previous year. In hindsight, he was relieved that Giles had demanded telling them of Wesley’s renewed involvement in their affairs prior to his arrival. Hopefully, it would prove a slight balm to the ruffling that was bound to occur when he knocked.

He took an extra moment outside of the flat door to compose his appearance. Setting his helmet aside, Wesley pulled at the bottom hem of his leather coat, trying to remove some of the extra creases that invariably appeared when he rode. The insides of his thighs burned from where the trousers chafed, and he squirmed to try and loosen the material from his skin. _I must remember to get some baby powder tonight_ , he thought with a grimace.

The door opened before he could knock, catching him in an awkward, bow-legged stance.

Willow’s eyes met his for only a moment before flickering down to note his ungainly position, impelling the heat from his legs to somehow migrate to Wesley’s cheeks when her brows lifted. “I guess we know why you were just standing out here for so long,” she said, and then her gaze swept over him again. “I think.”

Pulling himself up to his full height, Wesley held his head high as he smiled down at her, false and so difficult to maintain when all he could consider was turning on his heel and running for his bike. “It’s good to see you, Willow,” he said, ignoring her observation. “You’re looking remarkably well.”

There was a hint of sadness in her smile, and Wesley could’ve sworn he saw a shade being pulled behind the welcome in her eyes. “You mean, considering the fact that I’ve been pumped chock full of mystery magic and nobody knows if I’m going to end the world or turn into fairy dust?” she said.

“Well, yes.” This was already so far off how he’d conceived this meeting going, Wesley could only sigh as his body sagged. “My apologies for being so late.”

He was halfway over the threshold when Willow’s hand fluttered to his forearm. “Is that yours?” she asked with more than a touch of surprise, pointing to the shrub by the door.

The remainder of his bravado dissipated as he retrieved his helmet and followed her into the flat. He’d been a fool to accept Mr. Travers’ proposal. Everything Wesley attempted exploded into a nightmarish concoction of embarrassment, pain, and humiliation, and he’d been foolish to consider that this time might be different. Facing Buffy and her squadron of critical allies for the duration of the afternoon was going to be interminable now.

“You’re late,” Giles said. He was standing inside his kitchen, reaching for something unseen in one of the cupboards. “Don’t tell me you lost my directions again.”

“No, I had a…flat tire…” Wesley’s voice faded away as he surveyed the nearly empty room. With the exception of Willow returning to where she’d been surrounded by books on the couch, there was no one else present, and his brows drew together behind his glasses. “Where is everyone?” he asked before he could stop himself.

Willow looked confused by the question. “Who are you expecting?”

“Well, Buffy. And Xander. And Cordelia, perhaps?”

Giles emerged from the kitchen carrying two cups of steaming tea. “Buffy wasn’t feeling well,” he said, handing a cup to Wesley. “She returned to her dorm.”

“And Xander had to go to work,” Willow chimed in. “As for Cordelia, well, she moved to LA this summer, so unless you called her to let her know you wanted her around, I don’t think she’s going to show.”

“Oh.”

“You seem surprised,” Giles observed.

“Yes, I thought---.”

“This will be difficult enough,” the other Watcher continued. “Willow and I both agree that it would be unnecessary to include the others at this juncture.”

“ _I_ even volunteered to step out at this point,” the young woman joked half-heartedly. “But Giles was of the opinion that maybe that might be taking it too far.”

It was the first positive note he’d heard since he’d pulled up in front of the building. Regaining a small measure of his confidence, Wesley nodded in concession, and set his helmet aside. “That seems to be a reasonable conclusion,” he said.

Giles’ eyes darted to the closed door. “Travers said you would be accompanied by one of the coven’s witches,” he commented.

Carefully, Wesley settled on the chair opposite the couch, trying not to wince as the leather trousers rubbed along his thighs. “She is en route. She won’t be joining us for a few days.”

“Did you have any thoughts as to how you wanted to proceed?”

He took the senior Watcher’s inquiry as an unspoken acquiescence to Wesley’s authority, and the tension began to ease from Wesley’s limbs. He took his time in answering, sipping at the hot tea Giles had given him, and then looking at the two waiting with a small smile.

“I’d rather hoped we could just take today to get reacquainted. A great deal has happened since we last saw each other, don’t you think?”

* * *

The envelope was thicker than normal, and Spike eyed it dubiously as he leaned back in his chair. Throughout the discourse of his letter, his temper had soothed to more manageable levels, but it was the extent of what he’d said that made him now pause. Up to this point, he’d deliberately chosen to keep his activities as mum as possible; fantasies about the look of delight on Buffy’s face when he presented her with the weapons and power she could use to be the longest surviving Slayer had fuelled his silence since the beginning. The discovery of Rose’s death, though, made continuing such a charade seem irrelevant.

He’d used four sheets of paper detailing everything he had dreamed about finding, how he’d hoped Rose could give that power to Buffy, and how it was now being yanked from him after all his hard work. He’d just needed to flush his system of all the anxiety and frustration, and spilling the story to his Slayer seemed the best way. But was it? Would she understand his fears of failure or would she condemn him yet again for being a washout as a vampire?

As he contemplated the wisdom of actually posting his letter, Spike’s eyes drifted to the long, thin box that rested next to his writing supplies. He hadn’t checked it today for word from Buffy; in his rush, it hadn’t occurred to him to try. The desire to even do so had waned with each passing day; every day it was empty was another day Buffy wasn’t speaking to him, and he was beginning to loathe the anger that ballooned with each brush-off.

But he couldn’t just stop. To stop meant to give up hope. And he wasn’t ready to do that, no matter how mad she made him.

Pushing the envelope aside, Spike opened the top drawer of the desk and took out a slim silver rod. The light from the lamp glinted off the metal as he slipped it into the carved hole at the front of the box, and he rotated it three times in the lock before feeling the resistance yield to the enchantment. With a soft click, the wooden top lifted, and Spike’s gaze flitted to the box’s dark interior.

If his heart still functioned, it would’ve stopped.

It was crumpled, and one corner had been bent and pressed back flat, but as Spike lifted it out of its confines, the envelope seemed like the most perfect thing in the world to him. Well, second most. He didn’t even care if he opened it and found a Dear John inside. Buffy had written him. That meant she had read his letters.

Though his instincts screamed at him to tear the envelope open, Spike held firm, sliding his index finger beneath the seal that hadn’t quite caught at the corners, and pulled out the single sheet of paper it contained. Slowly, he unfolded it.

* * *

She jumped when the pounding started at her door.

“Lydia! Lydia, get your uptight ass out here before I bloody well break this door down!”

A shouting Spike was not an unfamiliar occurrence in their travels, but there was something different in the timbre of his voice, an exultation that only came when they’d discovered a new development in their search or when he’d dispatched a particularly nasty demon. It automatically drove her to her feet, and as she strode to her door, she couldn’t help but wonder what revelation he had reached while composing his letter to Buffy.

He was doing circuits around the sitting room, his hands in constant motion as he muttered under his breath. The instant he heard Lydia’s door open, though, Spike broke from his pattern, rushing forward to grasp her head between his hands, pull her to him, and bestow a resounding kiss on her lips.

“I knew it!” he exclaimed upon releasing her only a moment later. “I bloody well knew it!”

Lydia’s fingers rose to her mouth as she watched him resume his pacing. _That_ had certainly never happened before. “Knew what?” she queried in confusion.

“She loves me! Took her long enough to come around, but I _knew_ she couldn’t forget. Nobody could forget something so fucking amazing.”

The slight moment of elation faded as understanding dawned. “Are you referring to Buffy?” Lydia asked carefully.

“Like there’s anybody else who bloody matters.” With a triumphant flourish, Spike pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket and shoved it in her hands before stalking over to the box she’d brought from Rose’s house. He continued to speak as he started throwing everything back inside it.

“Need to pack your bags, pet. I don’t know when the next plane’s scheduled, but I’m planning on bein’ on it, even if it means I’m tucked away all safe and sound in the farthest corner of the hold. You just better have all our paperwork still in order.”

Lydia’s eyes skimmed the few sentences on the paper, her frown deepening as she read it through a second time more carefully. “William,” she began, and then paused. Perhaps it wouldn’t be prudent to argue with him when he was in such a manic state.

Too late. He’d picked up on her hesitation. “What?”

Her gaze danced between the note---because really, three sentences was far too short to constitute a letter---and the energized vampire. “She doesn’t…actually… _say_ she loves you.”

The paper was snatched from her hands before she could react, and she stiffened in the face of a scowling Spike. “She _does_ ,” he insisted. He held it up so that the words were visible to her, like an eye chart he was determined she was going to read. “She _misses_ me. She soddin’ asked me to come back. That’s Slayer-speak for ‘I love you.’” He snorted. “And here I thought you were so fucking smart.”

“And you…wish to go? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“Of course, I bloody wish to go! Don’t have any purpose here any more, do I? Rose is dead, the tosser who killed her skipped town, and all I’m doin’ is spinning my wheels.” He shoved the note back into his pocket before returning to the seer’s belongings. “Buffy wants me in Sunnydale, I’m goin’ to Sunnydale. End of discussion.”

She couldn’t move as she watched him finish with the box, her muscles rigid, her blood cold. This wasn’t what had been planned, but Lydia wasn’t so foolish to think that she could actually stop William when he was this agitated. Her only hope was to mitigate some of the damage.

“There’s more you should know,” she said, as calmly as she could manage.

He was halfway to his room when he stopped to regard her. “What more?” William asked, his eyes narrowing. “What do you know about Buffy that I don’t?”

“It’s not about her. It’s about…Sunnydale.”

“Yeah? What about it?”

Lydia swallowed. “Earlier, I told you Baltozar was gone, but you didn’t allow me to tell you the most important part. In my attempts to discover where it was he’d fled, I learned he’d purchased tickets for a flight to the United States. Specifically, to Los Angeles.” Her chin lifted. “It’s my belief he’s headed for the Hellmouth.”


	6. Where All Men Ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXXXVII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Lydia has told Spike Baltozar is on his way to California, Buffy has written another letter to Spike after finishing the ones he wrote her, and Willow has had her first meeting with Wesley regarding her magic…

Even though they had just patrolled it two nights earlier, Willow didn’t ask any questions as she followed the Slayer through the heavy iron gates of Restfield Cemetery. Buffy’s relief in the reprieve was almost palpable. It was a break in her usual pattern, but how could she explain the sudden urge without revealing the contents of Spike’s letter? Not that she was going to sit and read it like he’d described. She hadn’t even brought it with her. But the image had stuck in Buffy’s head, and her feet seemed to have a mind of their own the moment they’d left the dorm.

The sky was clear, the moon nearly full as it gleamed against the star-studded midnight. A slight breeze broke the stillness of the heat, and it was just enough to keep the sheen from the girls’ skin as they began to walk among the headstones.

“So, how’d it go this afternoon?” Buffy asked. She couldn’t stand the silence any longer. She’d asked Willow to come patrol with her specifically in hopes of talking about the situation with Spike, but ever since they had left campus, both young women had been lost in her own thoughts. “Is Wesley as stuffy as ever?”

“What would you say if I told you Wesley showed up on a motorcycle, dressed in leather, looking like Joe Cool?” Willow said with a mischievous grin.

Buffy’s jaw dropped. “Get out of here!”

“Well, it was more Easy Rider meets Gomer Pyle via Upstairs Downstairs, but yeah, that was the big entrance.”

“I guess getting fired agrees with him, then.”

Willow shrugged, and her smile faded slightly. “Maybe not so much, but…I’ll let you be the judge of that when you get to see him.”

They strolled along the grass for a moment before Buffy tried again. “But, did it help?” she asked. “I mean, I know what I said when we were at Giles’, but now that you’ve actually met with him, do you think it’ll make a difference?”

“I don’t know.” There was a tremulous worry that shaded her friend’s tone, and it made the Slayer frown as she glanced over. “Today wasn’t about what happened to me, or about magic, or about anything, really. We just…talked. Got to know each other again.” Her eyes met Buffy’s. “He’s changed. A lot. In some ways, no, maybe not really, but then in others…” Her voice trailing off, Willow’s gaze returned to the distance of the horizon. “I’m not making any sense.”

“No, I get it.” And she did. “A lot’s happened since graduation. To all of us.”

Another silence settled between them, although this one was welcome. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all, Buffy thought. Willow had her own problems to deal with; she didn’t need to listen to Buffy whine about not understanding what was going on in another vampire’s head. Especially a vampire who wasn’t even around.

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Willow said.

“For what?”

“For blabbing about Spike in front of Xander. I don’t know why I brought it up. I _know_ Spike’s not a threat to you. ”

Something she said made Buffy pause. “You _know_?” she queried. “You didn’t seem so sure about Spike last night.”

The fraction of a second too long it took Willow to respond only deepened her confusion. “Because you said so,” the redhead said. “You haven’t changed your mind, have you?”

“No.” But, in spite of her earlier intent, her desire to talk about Spike had waned. Willow’s reaction curdled with wrongness, like there was more that she wasn’t sharing, but Buffy was frightened of pushing her friend too hard. Though the young witch seemed like herself most of the time, at others, there was an odd fragility that had never been present before, as if her consciousness wearied of maintaining some façade, and Buffy wondered if maybe there was something Willow was hiding about her magical whammy. So instead, she changed the subject.

“Did you guys come up with some kind of plan?” she asked. She hadn’t been keen on missing the meeting with Wesley, and from the sounds of it, it had gone quite differently than anyone had imagined. Whether that was a good thing or not, remained to be seen.

“It’s not like there’s a ten-step program for magic junkies,” Willow joked.

“There’s such a thing as magic junkies? Wow. They didn’t cover _that_ in health class.”

“And I’m not a junkie,” Willow continued. “I’m more like a sponge that’s been soaking for too long.”

“And Wesley and Giles are going to wring you out?” At her friend’s startled glance, Buffy flushed. “Sorry, that came out sounding way more sexual than I meant it to.”

“I don’t know what they have in mind. Probably nothing yet. The witch from the coven hasn’t even arrived. I think she might be the one who knows the most about how to help me.”

It was Willow’s casual bandying of the term “help” that made Buffy pause in her steps. “I’m sorry it happened to you,” she said softly. “I should’ve stopped it. I should’ve made Rose take it back. If I’d known---.”

“Stop.” For a moment, the redhead’s eyes seemed to glow, her skin suddenly translucent to reveal the shimmering network of veins beneath its surface, but just as quickly, it disappeared, and Buffy blamed it on a trick of the moonlight. “This wasn’t your fault,” she went on. “If anything, this was mine. I’m the one who came up with the version of the original spell, and _I’m_ the one who told it to Rose. I wanted to help. And I did, remember? No more uber-powerful witch trying to recruit Slayers into doing her nasty deeds. Now, there’s just little old me. And _I_ can’t even get you to pick up your dirty socks.”

The last was said with a smile, and it drew the same from Buffy, though mirth was the last thing she was feeling at the moment. “Still,” she said, finding the need to press the issue, “if you hadn’t gotten all tied up in trying to wake me out my tea coma---.”

“---which would’ve happened in what dimension exactly?” Willow resumed walking, her hands deep in her skirt pockets. “I know I’ve been…off, and I know you’re all worried about me, but if I have to choose between helping and taking some unknown backlash afterward, or just standing back and doing nothing because it’s the _safe_ thing to do but someone could die, I’ll help every time, Buffy. You know that.”

“But there are consequences,” she argued. “Sometimes helping isn’t worth the risk.”

“You risk even more every time you patrol.”

“I’m the Slayer. That’s my job.”

“And what’s mine?”

“You’re research girl. You’re my brain trust.”

“But I can be _more_.” She turned to stop directly in front of Buffy, and again, that odd glowing seemed to overpower Willow’s eyes for a second. “Don’t you get that? Yeah, this magic thing can really bite the big one a lot of the time, but if I can turn it around into something that can really make a difference, wouldn’t that be worth it?”

“Not if it means you get hurt.”

“That’s my decision to make, don’t you think?”

She didn’t understand how the conversation had degenerated into this. For a long moment, Buffy regarded the young woman opposite without speaking. Willow wasn’t upset, but there was a resolve that permeated her muscles in a way that only happened when she was most determined. Her eyes were clear now, the only glow remaining that from the moonlight.

“Buffy,” she said, and her tone was gentler, her eyes sad, “I know I was freaked out when Giles brought up dealing with all the changes this morning, but after talking to him and Wesley…I need to do this. You have no idea. It’s been…it’s been hard, like someone’s constantly running an electrical current through me and I can’t find the plug or the switch to change it in any way.”

“You never said.”

“I know. I didn’t want anyone to worry.”

Buffy threw her arms around Willow in a huge hug, relieved when it was reciprocated. “I love you, Will. I just want you to be OK.”

“I am OK. Or I will be.” They broke apart. “Don’t tell anyone I ever said this, but I’m kind of glad the Council butted in again. I really think working with Wesley and Giles is going to make a difference.”

She smiled. “That must’ve been some conversation you guys had. And in leather. Gotta try that next time I’ve got an apocalypse to deal with.”

“You wanna see Giles in leather?”

The sudden image made Buffy’s eyes widen. “OK, maybe not.”

“And I think Wesley’s allergic or something. He kept squirming a lot today.”

“Not helping with the visuals here, Willow.”

This time when they returned to their stroll, the atmosphere was less charged, some of the tension that had been building between then dissipated from their brief conversation. It’s now or never, Buffy thought, taking a deep breath, but before she could say anything, an engine roared to life in the distance.

Both girls stopped, frowns on their faces.

“What was that?” Buffy asked.

“It sounded like a car. A big car.”

“In a graveyard? In the middle of the night?”

Neither needed to say just how wrong that really was, and Buffy broke into a run toward the sound, her feet pounding silently against the grass as the cool night air whipped tendrils of her hair around her face. Within seconds, she rounded the corner of a mausoleum and skidded to a halt when she saw a van pulling away from a pile of broken earth.

The van was dark and nondescript, but the moonlight captured the hulking forms of two men standing near the upset grave, and Buffy’s brows shot up when she recognized the general features of the man who’d spoken to her the night before. He was in the same military get-up, but with the greasepaint on his face, it was impossible to be any more specific about whether he was young or old, blond or brunette. It was him, though. Of that, she was sure.

“How many does that make?” she heard him say.

“Two,” his partner said.

GI Joe shook his head. “Orders said three. We’ll have to do another sweep.”

“We’ve done two already. This place is dead.”

“That’s because it’s a graveyard. Kind of goes with the territory.” Buffy’s voice rang out through the clearing, capturing the two men’s attention as she strolled casually forward. She watched as the second vigilante began to reach for the weapon strapped at his waist, but his wrist was grabbed by GI Joe, pushing his partner slightly behind him so that Joe was the one she faced off when she stopped twenty feet away.

“Whatcha doing?” she asked brightly. “Is it a party? Because you know, the costumes are a dead giveaway.”

“You shouldn’t be out so late,” he said, ignoring her quips. “It’s not safe after dark.”

Her smile faded at the familiarity of his words. “Are you reading from a script or something?”

Her bluntness took him aback. “Huh?”

“It’s just, those lines are getting kind of old. You should really come up with some new material or people might start thinking you’re being insincere.” Buffy tilted her head to look at the man behind GI Joe, giving him a small wave. “Hi,” she said. “Are you shy? I don’t bite. Unlike most of what you run into out here.”

“Let’s go,” the second man hissed.

Joe jerked away from his partner’s hold. “You really shouldn’t be out,” he insisted. “If you want an escort---.”

“And that would be a world of ew. Oh. Wait. You mean someone to walk me back. My bad. I’m just not used to the chivalry. It’s almost sweet, in a sexist, demeaning kind of way.”

A scream in the darkness shattered all sense of Buffy’s playfulness, and her head snapped in the sound’s direction. She didn’t need to hear it again to know who it was, and broke off into another run before it could be repeated.

It was Willow.

* * *

That’s it, Willow thought as her heart pounded in her chest, her legs aching from the speed she’d inflicted on them in pursuing Buffy. I’m going to slap a sticky on that girl that reminds her, _I’m a superhero. I run faster than my friends._

She couldn’t see Buffy any more, but she knew which direction she’d gone, and valiantly, Willow struggled to catch up, her pace slowing with every step as her lungs began to burn. The sound of the car driving away made her falter, and her head turned in its new direction, the sudden question of whether or not the Slayer would be following it driving her to second-guess her course.

She didn’t have time to dwell on her decision. Acting on impulse, Willow’s feet veered from her path, aiming her in a straight line toward the vehicle. Either she would run into Buffy, or she’d be able to find out what happened to the car. Both results were of the good, especially if the car turned out just to be some teenagers looking for a cheap, but deadly thrill.

Something furry brushed against her ankle, and Willow squeaked as she stumbled into the grass. Her knee slammed against a hidden rock, and a bolt of pain shot down her calf. “Ow!” she cried out. Her fingers clutched at the grass as she waited out the pain, glancing down to see the small trickle of blood that was already dripping from the injury. “Great,” she muttered. “And here I thought college girls didn’t get skinned knees any more. Silly me.”

Struggling to her feet, Willow winced when she put her weight back onto her leg. No more running for her, she thought as she bent over to examine the wound. She’d be lucky if she made it to the dorm without begging Buffy to carry her.

She heard the growl too late, red hair whipping around just in time to see the Metallica t-shirt and torn blue jeans of the attacking vampire before it knocked her back to the grass. The scream was torn from her throat, reason disappearing as it was replaced by instinct. Clawing and scratching at her assailant, she fought in desperate fervor to free herself from his grasp.

His breath was rancid, and Willow grimaced as she saw what looked like skin caught between the vampire’s teeth. “You’re supposed to brush after every meal!” she said, twisting and turning to try and get away. “Just because you’re a demon doesn’t mean you have to give up on personal hygiene!”

Her knee was throbbing, but the pain was inconsequential next to the rising panic in her throat when she misgauged one of the vampire’s lunges and inadvertently bared her neck to his bite. “No!” she screamed when she felt the fangs break through her skin. Electricity surged through Willow’s veins, and in the next moment, the world went red.

* * *

She felt the heat first. Like individual pokers stabbing into her bare arms.

Then…came the blinding flash. The one that burned her retinas and made Buffy yelp as her sight abandoned her.

She stopped, long enough to squeeze her eyelids shut in a vain attempt to will her vision back. When they re-opened, though, crimson dots still danced wherever the Slayer looked, disorienting her too much to do more than stumble forward in the vague direction from which the flash had come.

Willow’s crumpled form was a blur, but as Buffy approached, the edges around her friend sharpened in blood-dark relief. The witch’s hand was pressed to her neck, her chest heaving as she fought to catch her breath, and the unmistakable aroma of vampire dust hung in the air.

“Willow!” she cried out. She crouched at her friend’s side, but hesitated to touch, the distinctive crackle of energy making the hair on Buffy’s arms stand on end. “What happened? Are you all right?”

Slowly, Willow lifted her head, revealing dust-smudged cheeks and scorch marks down the front of her top. “Vampire go poof,” she said faintly.

She wasn’t moving from her hunched position, so Buffy reached out and peeled the fingers away from her friend’s neck. Blood had dripped between the appendages, but as the hand fell limply to the ground, it exposed an expanse of smooth skin, unbroken by anything remotely teeth-shaped.

“Well, at least it didn’t bite you,” she said. Her eyes returned to Willow’s, unable to hide the confusion from her drawn brows. “But…where’d the blood come from?”

“I…I…” But she couldn’t speak, and before Buffy could stop her, she’d collapsed to the grass.

Scooping Willow into her arms, she paused to look around as she straightened. Vampire dust shadowed the ground, patches of the grass burned away, and when she looked back in the direction she’d come from, Buffy realized the vigilante military guys hadn’t bothered to follow. Or, if they had, they were well hidden by the night.

She didn’t have time to think about it. With Willow unconscious, Buffy had to get away from the cemetery before any more demons decided to show up and take advantage of the situation. She’d just have to come back in the morning and poke around to see what popped up.

* * *

Something startled her from a sound sleep, and Esme’s eyes shot open to stare up at the hotel room ceiling. Her body was vibrating, a wonted resonance that made her want to weep from its familiarity, but by the time consciousness had fully whet the edges of her awareness, it was gone, leaving her hollow and stricken and feeling more aged than she had since that damned seer had stolen her magic.

Tremulously, Esme pushed off the blankets and sat up, ignoring the way the room swam around her. It was just as well. Her body was still on British time, and though the digital clock on the nightstand burned a midnight hour into the darkened room, it felt like morning. There would be no more rest for her tonight. She would be a shell when the young Watcher came in the morning to fetch her to Sunnydale, but his communiqué had made it clear she wouldn’t be meeting with the young witch right away. Esme would have ample opportunity after her arrival at the Hellmouth to catch up on sleep.

The night was still, only the distant hum of Los Angeles traffic reaching into her room’s silence with thick fingers that teased and taunted. Nothing within the walls leant itself to waking her, and she couldn’t help but muse on what it was that could have stunned her so effectively from her slumber. If she didn’t know better, Esme would’ve asserted that it was magic sending frissons through her flesh, but no such power lingered in the air. It wasn’t within her, either. A small attempt to open the drapes produced nothing, and she was left with only questions and speculation.

Perhaps the Watcher will know, she thought as she reached for the television’s remote control, though she doubted he would offer anything more than a cocked eyebrow and a stern warning. She was not supposed to be utilizing magic of any sort, and if she were to let it slip that she might’ve been exposed to it beyond the realm of her aiding Willow, it was entirely possible that Quentin would insist on her return to England. That would not be good.

No, she would keep this to herself. If it was magic, it wouldn’t take Esme long to discern the cause; this was her world of expertise, after all. And if it wasn’t…

Esme sighed, not even aware of the black-and-white film she had inadvertently selected on the television. If it wasn’t magic, it was just one more indication that it was over. Perhaps this was her body’s way of telling her to give up, that it was fruitless at her age to hope to regain even a taste of the power that had been stolen from her. Perhaps it was just a bad dream, made sensory real by her lifetime pursuit of the Slayer power.

But then…perhaps it wasn’t.

* * *

It was past midnight, and Wesley knew he should be anywhere but still in Giles’ flat, but the prospect of returning to his empty hotel room left him empty and more than a little depressed, especially in light of the rather enjoyable day that had transpired. Though nothing had been planned and no specifics were discussed regarding Willow’s newfound powers, the trio had engaged in an afternoon of stories, filling in the gaps of the past few months while they became reacquainted for this new endeavor. After so many weeks with only himself for company, it was a relief to actually converse with those who held shared experiences, and not an anonymous someone he happened across in a bar.

Staring into the empty tumbler cradled between his hands, Wesley debated asking his host for another drink. Perhaps not the wisest choice for him to make, he reasoned. He was feeling more than a little drunk and he sincerely doubted the addition of more alcohol into his system would help ward off the thoughts he no longer seemed capable of preventing.

At the desk, Giles finished the telephone conversation he’d been conducting and returned the receiver to its cradle. “That was Buffy,” he said, returning to his seat in the chair opposite Wesley. “Something happened to Willow while they were on patrol.”

Wesley stiffened. “Is she all right?”

“She appears to be,” came the reply. Casually, Giles picked up his glass, swirling the whisky around inside and watching as the light played in the amber. “Buffy was rather vague on the details but she’s under the impression Willow set a vampire on fire and got caught in the aftershock.”

“Aftersh…she used magic?”

“That’s the portion she was unclear on. Willow fell asleep when they got back to their dorm so she wasn’t able to discern the entire story. We’ll have to speak with Willow about it in the morning.”

The news sobered Wesley even further. “She has no idea, does she?” he said, his voice low and meditative.

Giles needed no clarification; both men were thinking of only one young woman. “Of which?” Giles asked. “The extent of her own power, or the Council’s inevitable refusal to release her as an asset?”

“Both, really.” He was warm, too warm, and set aside his glass in order to push his shirt sleeves up even further. He had long ago shed his coat, but his clothing was still too restrictive, and he wished, not for the first time, that he’d never purchased the leather ensemble. “I’d forgotten how… _eager_ Willow could be.”

“I would imagine that better serves your purposes.”

Lifting his head, Wesley met Giles’ cool gaze in the chair opposite. He had been exceedingly cordial, even accommodating, during the course of their conversations through the day, but the moment Giles had requested the younger man stay on after Willow’s departure, Wesley had known the gloves would be coming off.

“We’re not adversaries in this,” Wesley said. “We both want only what’s best for Willow.”

Snorting in disgust, Giles broke from his regard to drain the remainder of his whisky. “Just because the Council has deigned to place me back on its payroll,” he said, “does not mean I still wear blinders in regards to its less than sterling practices. I _know_ they wish to recruit her as a resource. Travers made that abundantly clear when we were still in London.”

“That’s secondary to ensuring she can handle the power.”

“Well, of course it is. If she can’t handle it, she serves them no purpose. It doesn’t negate the fact that they want to exploit an innocent young woman.”

Wesley sighed. He couldn’t respond. It was the truth, and both of them knew it. Any protestations he might make would demean him even further in his senior’s eyes, and he too desperately needed Giles’ support in order to make this a success.

“How much do you know of what happened this summer?” Giles asked.

“That remains to be seen, doesn’t it? I’ve read all the Council’s reports, but we both know that certain details have a tendency to be excluded when it comes to Buffy and her escapades.”

“Do their reports include the fact that William the Bloody was pivotal in defeating April and Esme?”

“Of course. Lydia’s report was quite extensive in regards to his involvement, though I was unsure just how much credence I could allow it. She’s always been rather enamored with the romanticism of his tale, hasn’t she?”

“You can believe it,” Giles said. “He was there every step of the way.”

“Once Esme summoned him, you mean.”

“No, I mean he was involved from the very beginning. Though his role was a bit…passive at the start.”

Wesley’s eyes narrowed. “What are you trying to tell me?” he asked carefully.

It was a long moment of close scrutiny before Giles shook his head. “No,” he said. “I don’t think I will. Until you can convince me that you’re not completely Travers’ pawn and that Willow’s wellbeing is your topmost priority, I’ll leave it to Buffy’s discretion to fill you in on the details regarding Spike. I can warn you, though, that you should be prepared to contend with him firsthand. I know you’ve had some direct experience with vampires because of our arrangements last year with Angel, but I assure you, Spike is _not_ Angel.”

“I wasn’t aware he was in Sunnydale.”

“He’s not. He’s in Barcelona with Lydia. Though it’s entirely possible they’re on a plane to Los Angeles, even as we speak.”

He gaped, incredulous. “With Lydia? What…why…how on _earth_ do you know any of this?”

Rising from his chair, Giles crossed to the desk where the whisky bottle sat and poured out another shot. He downed it in a single swallow before replying.

“Who do you think asked her to keep an eye on Spike in the first place?”

* * *

He slept. Though Lydia had pulled the necessary strings to grant him some privacy in the hold without being treated as luggage, Spike was taking advantage of the soothing dark and the gentle vibrations of the airplane’s engines to get some well-deserved rest. She had offered to keep him company, her excuses regarding his need for special care due to his “skin allergy” garnering her extra favor with the staff for some inexplicable reason, but he had turned her down. She was the wrong blonde.

The only one he wanted occupying his thoughts at the moment was Buffy.

Her letter was folded carefully and tucked into his front pocket where he could pull it out whenever he wanted to look it over. Somewhere, deep inside his heart, there was a small part of Spike that had been convinced it was over. She isn’t writing for a reason, it whispered in the darkest corners of the night. _She doesn’t want you._ But her note disproved that, sent the doubt scattering like ash in the wind, and he was going to cling to Buffy’s simple request until his nails tore and bled and were no more.

It was a relief, almost. Like a window had been unexpectedly opened when he’d been convinced the last was shuttered against him. He wasn’t proud to be returning without the results of his quest, but in light of Lydia’s avowal regarding Baltozar’s movements, Spike believed it to be for the best.

Whatever Baltozar’s motives, Spike was prepared to protect Buffy from them, to follow Rose’s request and be at the Slayer’s side. He didn’t pretend to understand why, but there would be time enough for answers later.

So for now, he slept.

And while he rested, Spike dreamed of his life to come.


	7. Doth Prepare the Cup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXIV.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Giles has admitted to Wesley that he’s responsible for Lydia’s continued contact with Spike, Spike is on his way to California, and while on a routine patrol, Buffy encountered the mysterious vigilante men while Willow fended off a vampire attack…

She was late, but as Buffy quickened her step toward the cemetery, the explanations---OK, excuses, but Xander and Oz were the last two people on this earth to sit in judgment on her tardiness---tumbled around inside her head, fighting for the grand prize of her accountability in showing up more than an hour later than had been agreed on the phone that morning. Well, actually, it wasn’t much of a fight. If anything, each of the reasons was just half-heartedly girly-slapping at another while she tried to decide which tack to take.

_“Sorry, guys, but you know that bug I had yesterday? Back. My breakfast is currently doing the back stroke on its way to the Pacific.”_

_“I know_ _Willow_ _was supposed to come with, but believe it or not, she’s still out for the count and I was just sticking around to see if she was going to snap out of her Sleeping Beauty-ness.”_

_“The mail doesn’t show up at the dorms until ten, and I had to wait for it so that I could get Spike’s latest letter. I know it’s Sunday. I forgot, OK?”_

Even if they were all true, none of them were any good. Mention of being sick would elicit more condescending worry when really, she was feeling much better now. If she used Willow as the excuse, Oz was going to freak out in his non-freaking out way and probably abandon the recon she wanted to do and she’d lose her second biggest asset in the search. And as for hanging around for word from Spike without realizing that it wasn’t going to show…after the previous day’s exhibition, there was no way Buffy was ready to try and explain that one to Xander.

As she rounded the corner, she saw both young men lounging around the cemetery’s front gates and affected her widest smile as she approached. Their joking conversation halted on her arrival, and she did her best to ignore the puzzled glances both of them cast behind her.

“I wasn’t sure you’d still be here,” she said brightly as she pulled open the gate. “With the kind of day I’ve been having, it would’ve served me right if you guys had bailed and just gone on home.”

“Not to be the master of the obvious,” Xander said, “but aren’t you minus one redhead?”

“Yeah,” said Oz. “Where’s Willow?”

They were both waiting on the exterior of the gate, and Buffy steeled herself to turn around and face them. “Back at the dorm. She’s still asleep.”

Xander frowned, glancing at his watch. “What’s wrong? It’s almost noon. Don’t tell me her Hello Kitty alarm clock is broken again.”

“No, I just decided she was better off catching up on her rest. We don’t really need her to look around anyway, and between patrolling with me last night and going to the Factory on Friday, she can use every second of shuteye she can get before classes tomorrow. She’s already got a test, I think.”

It was only half-true. She might still be asleep, but all attempts to wake Willow had been completely ineffective. Short of throwing cold water over her head, it didn’t look like she would be ready to get up for hours yet, and Buffy had decided to just let nature run its course. She’d tried reaching Giles to see what he thought about the matter, but there had been no answer at his apartment. That left the decision to leave entirely in Buffy’s hands. It hadn’t been easy.

Oz just nodded. “If she’s got a test, she’s going to want to study, too,” he said.

“That crazy little whizkid,” Xander said, shaking his head. “What will she try next.” He took the few steps forward to stop at Buffy’s side, his dark gaze twisting to survey the deceptively placid greenery of the graveyard. “So lead on, MacSlayer. Didn’t you say something about a vigilante group to track down?”

As she led them toward the spot where she’d spotted the van the night before, Buffy tamped down the guilt that threatened to loosen her tongue. Neither guy thought for a second that she was lying, or even coloring the truth in her favor. What would they think if they discovered the truth?

And then there was the whole Spike issue with Xander. So far, he hadn’t brought it up, but as she repeated the story about running across the commandos again, Buffy couldn’t help but notice that every once in a while, Xander would look at her with a thoughtful, assessing gaze, like there was something he wanted to say but didn’t know how to go about saying it. Would it be better if she brought it up? Maybe if she took the first step, it wouldn’t necessarily be one that led over a cliff.

Then again, waiting until she had Willow for back-up might be better. Willow didn’t think Spike was a threat; she’d witnessed much of his behavior over the summer firsthand. If anyone could vouch for him, she was the one. Plus, there was the bonus in being the one person Xander trusted most in this world. If Spike had the Willow stamp of approval, Xander could quite likely fall into line behind her. Eventually.

That settled it then. She would wait. And she’d make sure she had pizza on the side as bribery when it happened.

The trio came to a stop at the foot of the grave Buffy had seen the van driving away from. The soil was broken where a vampire had obviously risen, but as she scanned the ground, Buffy frowned. “Am I the only one who doesn’t see vamp dust?” she asked.

“You sure this is where it all went down?” asked Xander.

“Positive.”

They turned their heads to see where Oz had wandered away, his gaze intent on the ground as he crouched to look at it more closely. “Tire tracks,” he said. “The grass is smashed, and there’s a pretty good impression where the ground’s soft. It’s fairly deep, too. Could’ve easily been a van.”

“People use vans to haul things,” Buffy said. “Like non-dusty vampires.”

“But that’s stupid,” Xander interjected. “Why would anyone try and capture vampires when they could just kill them and get rid of the threat? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“Hence the fact-finding mission. To make sense of the non-sensical.”

Oz straightened from where he’d been examining the grass, something metallic in his hands. “Hey, guys,” he said, holding out the object. “Any idea what this might be?”

Xander took it and turned it over. “Looks like some kind of communicator device.” He pressed a button on the side and a small red light began blinking on the console. “One of your military guys must’ve dropped it last night.”

“Looks pretty high-tech,” Oz said.

“Wow, I guess you were right about the funding.” Buffy took it from Xander and began playing with the knobs. “Maybe they’ll come back for it. We could probably use it as bait. Try to corner one of the guys and make him talk about what exactly they’re doing.”

“Is it just me or is this whole commando thing starting to look just a little too much like a Van Damme movie?” Xander said. He assumed an exaggerated pose, using his finger as a pretend gun and mimicking aiming it at a target. “Halt! In the name of bad acting everywhere, I order you to put those fangs away!”

“That’s actually scarier than thinking it’s just a fancy walkie-talkie,” Oz commented dryly.

“Maybe Giles can figure it out,” Buffy said.

“Because the fact that he still can’t figure out how to turn on his computer without Willow’s help means absolutely nothing.” Xander shook his head. “This is Will’s territory. If anyone can crack it, she can.”

“I could come back and see if anyone shows up,” Oz offered. “I’m going to be out this way tonight anyway.”

“How come?”

“I’ve got new chains. Since tomorrow’s the full moon, I want to make sure everything’s in place. I can take the first shift, no problem.”

Buffy nodded. “We’ll go with that. This looks way too important for someone to just forget about. And I haven’t seen them in the daytime yet, so odds are good they won’t come back until evening or later anyway. That camouflage paint they wear is probably just a little too obvious by the light of day.” She walked over to the tread marks. “Let’s follow these as far as we can. Maybe we’ll find something else.”

The three marched off, silent as all eyes stayed alert on the ground and their surroundings. At one point, the tire tracks disappeared when they hit a path, but Buffy darted up ahead and found the trail again, veering off toward the part of the cemetery where she had found Willow.

“Wait,” Oz said, after they’d walked another hundred yards. He sniffed at the air, his gaze sliding to the left to stare into the distance. “You said Willow got attacked?”

Buffy nodded. She’d been vague on the details, primarily because the ones she had didn’t make too much sense until Willow woke up and clarified them for her. But she’d never expected Oz to bring the issue up unsolicited.

“You didn’t tell us she got hurt.”

Her eyes widened. “How’d you know that?”

He sniffed again, as if to confirm his next statements. “I can smell her blood. Not a lot, but…it’s there.”

“She fell. When she was being chased. Her tights were ripped, so she probably skinned her knee.” She didn’t want to bring up the blood that had been on Willow’s hands, or the fact that the witch had been clutching at her neck like she’d been bitten. As Buffy had been washing away the blood before putting her friend to bed, she couldn’t help but wonder just how it had gotten there. It was a question that still waited for Willow to answer.

Oz seemed unsure of the response, but after a moment, just shrugged. “That must be it,” he said, and resumed walking along the trail. He didn’t say another word, not even when the tire tracks merged with the concrete of the road out of the graveyard.

“I think this is our usual dead end,” Buffy said. “No way can we follow what we can’t see.”

“But at least it wasn’t for nothing.” Xander gestured toward the device she still carried. “That looks like a bona fide lead to me.”

She played with the buttons on it again, this time causing the little red light to go out. “I just hope Willow can tell us how it works.” She looked to Oz. “Is eleven OK to relieve you? That gives me time for a quick patrol before I park my caboose for the night.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

With promises to meet up the next day after classes, the three parted ways, and Buffy began rambling back toward the dug-up grave alone. Not one word from Xander about Spike. Had he forgotten the subject already? Somehow, she doubted it. The topic had an insidious way of showing up at the most inopportune moments.

Her stomach clenched, and for a moment, Buffy thought she was going to throw up again. Maybe it was the school food that was getting to her so badly, she mused as she walked. Why else would her stomach be so sensitive lately?

* * *

The moment they lost audio, she leaned back in her chair. Her watery blue eyes were thoughtful as they fixed on the blank monitors, and her voice was even when she finally spoke.

“Get me Riley Finn,” she ordered the young man who stood at attention behind her. “I have a special assignment I’m going to need him to handle.”

It wasn’t until they were alone that the lab-coated man at her side spoke up. “What’re you planning?” he asked. “You’re not seriously considering setting off their trap?”

“I’m considering it, and more,” she replied. Rising to her feet, she began walking toward her office, her sensible shoes echoing against the concrete floor in the cavernous stronghold. She didn’t wait for the man to join her; she knew without having to look behind that he would be on her trail.

“Close the door,” she instructed when he followed her into her office. The hinges squeaked as he did so, prompting her to visibly react for the first time since listening in on the conversation in the graveyard. “Remind me to have maintenance come up and fix that,” she said with a frown.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do you plan on playing Twenty Questions, Maggie?” His voice was irritable, his expression more so. “Frankly, I have better things I could be doing with my time.”

“This will be worth it.” Extracting a thick folder from a tall filing cabinet, Maggie carried it behind her desk, opening it as she sat down. “I would suggest you get a special examination room ready, Gil. You’re going to need one after Riley completes the mission I give him.”

“What for?”

The room was silent for several minutes while she flicked through the pages of her file. Her patience was one of Maggie Walsh’s greatest attributes within the organization. It fuelled her brilliance and made her research all that more fruitful, because, unlike her colleagues who failed to persevere, she was willing to wait for the results that could likely change the entire world order. It gave her vision where others lacked, and it had made the entire move of their operations to the Hellmouth possible, because her superiors were smart enough to give her leeway when she felt circumstances demanded it.

“How would you like to study a werewolf?” she finally said, sliding the open file across her desk toward him.

Gil glanced down at the page she’d indicated, scanning the terse column of statistics with a frown. “We haven’t been able to locate one,” he replied.

“Yes, we have.”

“All the preliminary scouting reports said there was evidence of werewolf activity on the Hellmouth but no physical links could be found to find it.”

“Until now. Riley is going to bring you back your werewolf tonight. Well, he’ll be an actual werewolf tomorrow night, but you get the idea.”

Gil’s unspoken disbelief made Maggie want to sigh aloud in disgust. It amazed her how short-sighted so many of her staff really were, but that was an unfortunate symptom of most government workers, she’d long ago discovered. Only explaining what to her was so obvious could get through to many of them.

“Did you actually listen to the young people when they turned on the transceiver?” she asked. She already knew the answer, and didn’t wait for a reply. “The young man who’s coming back made a point of mentioning that tomorrow is the full moon. Combine that with his tracking the scent of blood, and I believe we’ve found our werewolf.”

“That’s…an awfully large leap you’re making there, don’t you think?”

“Leaping is what I do best. It got us here, didn’t it?”

“And that’s another thing. I thought the whole purpose in moving base to the Sunnydale was because of the artifacts. Don’t tell me you’ve changed our mission objective.”

“Our objective is, and always has been, to gain whatever information and tools we can in order to eradicate the threat of HST’s. That has hardly changed. It doesn’t matter if the method is studying a werewolf or seeking weapons to forge in our fight. It would be wise for you not to forget that.”

The first smart thing he’d done since listening to the graveyard conversation was hold his tongue. Merely nodding, Gil rose to his feet and crossed to the door, only hesitating when he reached its threshold. “The room will be ready,” he said.

Giving him a curt nod, Maggie contained her sigh until she was alone, shaking her head upon his absence. She was surrounded by fools. It would be a joyous day when they found the artifacts and she could leave the Hellmouth. She was finding its smalltown mentality unexpectedly contagious among her staff. A change of location was necessary to shake them from their lassitude.

Hopefully, the capture of the werewolf would prove a valuable distraction in the interim.

* * *

She knocked at the door one last time, but even as she did so, Willow knew the response was going to be the same. Nobody was home. She’d picked the one day it looked like Giles might actually have a life to show up unannounced on his doorstep.

If she’d known where Wesley was staying, she would’ve called him, but that was a detail Willow had forgotten to have filled in during their conversations the previous day. I’ll have to fix that, she thought as she turned away from the door. If he’s going to be around to help me, it might help if I can actually find him when I need him.

She’d woken to an empty dorm room, the silence shattering. The details of the vamp attack were razor-keen in her mind’s eye, and rising to the sunny light of day had only cemented them in her consciousness.

The fangs descending as he leaned to bite her.

The fire that had burned through her veins the moment she felt the fragile skin of her neck tear.

The raw scour of her throat as her screams had cracked the night.

One of the first things Willow spied upon sitting up in her bed was the scorched remnant of her top folded carefully over the back of her desk chair. She could still feel the fire that had leapt from her flesh, the flames that had incinerated the vampire, taking both of them by surprise as he burst into ash. Yet, when she peeked beneath the covers to look at her chest, she wasn’t surprised by the complete lackage of burns. As quickly as she’d become the vamp’s pyre, as soon as the deed was done, all fire was gone, leaving behind only the sooty reminder on her clothing.

Tentatively, she’d risen and crossed to her full-length mirror, bracing herself for what she would discover. It was the absence of what she wanted to find that had driven her to Giles’ aid. Though she knew for a fact that the vampire had bitten her, and though she had the proof of her fall evidenced by the nasty tear in her tights, Willow’s body remained completely unmarked. It was as if she’d never been hurt in the first place.

And she knew the reason for it.

And it terrified her beyond belief that the magic would leap to defend her so primitively.

Giles had to know. As much as she’d kept hidden from him about the other, this was too large on the freaky scale to tuck away into the corner of her closet and pretend wasn’t an issue. He had to be made aware of just how out of control the magic really was. She couldn’t do this alone. She couldn’t handle this kind of raw energy at her fingertips, no matter what she said to Buffy about wanting to help.

She needed him.

Or Wesley.

And neither of them were around.

She wanted to cry.

Taking a deep breath, Willow quelled the rising instinct to sob and focused her thoughts on what to do next. Buffy was out, probably doing something Slayer-y. She could call Xander, but other than give her a shoulder to cry on, she didn’t know what else he could do.

Oz. She’d go see Oz. He always seemed to know just what it was she needed. And he’d be able to keep her grounded until Giles got back from wherever he was. That was one of the things he did best.

With her new plan firmly in mind, Willow began walking through the courtyard to head for Oz’s place. She almost didn’t notice the tall woman who walked past her, but when, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the same stranger knocking on Giles’ door, she stopped.

“He’s not home,” she called out.

The woman jerked, her lean body silently alerting as if Willow’s voice was a sniper bullet. Her head whipped around as she searched for the source, and Willow shrank at the dangerous glint she could spy in the woman’s eyes, even at that distance.

“You know Rupert Giles?”

The woman’s voice was accented, but Willow couldn’t place where it might be from. Already wishing she’d kept her mouth shut, Willow swallowed before replying, “I just tried knocking, too. He must be out.”

“Do you know when he’ll return?” The woman took a step closer. She was tall---boy, was she tall, someone could get a severe neck cramp trying to look up at her---and her long features were sharp with feral intelligence. “It’s important that I see him.”

“No. Are you a friend?”

“I’m a…friend of a friend.” As the woman neared, her eyes narrowed, as if she was suddenly aware of something she hadn’t been before. “You’re the witch. You’re Willow.” Her hand appeared from nowhere, fingers rigid as she offered it in greeting. “My name is Havi.”

Slowly, Willow shook her hand, and then winced from the strength that was housed in the other woman’s grip. “How do you…have we met?”

“Not formally. My…friend spoke of you. Very highly.” Havi twisted to glance back at the closed apartment door, and Willow saw the metallic studs that adorned the nape of her neck. “Are you sure you don’t know when Mr. Giles will return?”

“Positive. I can tell him you were looking for him, if you want.”

“No. That won’t be necessary. I will find him soon enough.” Brushing past, Havi took long, powerful strides to exit the courtyard, and then stopped before disappearing down the path to the street. “It was a sincere pleasure to meet you, Willow,” she said, and offered a stiff smile that looked completely alien on her strong features. “Late ignis lucere, ut nihil urat, non potest.”

Then, she was gone.

Havi’s parting words jumbled inside Willow’s head, mishing and mashing in a big Latin mess that left her fervently wishing she didn’t suck so much at the dead language. What in heck just happened here? she thought with a frown. Somehow, she had a sickening feeling that whatever Havi had shared as a last hurrah was supposed to mean something to her, but if it was so godawful important, couldn’t she at least have said it in English?

Willow shook her head, as if that would clear out some of the cobwebs that had clearly taken up residence. Well, at least she had something to do while she waited for Giles to get back. Time to hit the library to translate what Havi had told her.

And pray that Giles would be swift to return.

* * *

A frustrated Lydia snapped her cell phone shut, slipping it back into her purse and glancing at her watch for the fourth time since entering the customs queue. Rupert needed to be informed of her arrival in Los Angeles and yet, he was not home to be told. If she and Spike arrived in Sunnydale without appropriate warning, she held no doubt that the senior Watcher would voice his displeasure. It would likely get back to Mr. Travers as well, and all her hopes for reinstatement to the Council could be forgotten. She _had_ to get a hold of him.

Waiting to clear customs was another headache entirely. The special treatment she’d received in Barcelona stopped as soon as she’d relinquished control of William’s care to the flight staff, and she was now being forced to go through the motions of entering the country that everyone else was. She rather missed the extra attention she inevitably gained through her association with William. Among demon circles, he was a legend, a force to be reckoned with, while among the humans combating his kind, he stood much taller than his five-feet-ten, inspiring fear and awe even amongst those who’d seen the worst.

She didn’t even want to consider what his mood was going to be like once they met up again. It had been a devastatingly long trip; William would likely be short-tempered from the lack of amenities to which he was accustomed.

A half hour later, Lydia was finally through the immigration process and scurrying to meet up with the rental company. She had hired a van to protect William from the afternoon sunlight; hopefully, the other unusual requests she had made would be filled as well. It would save them time in their travels if they didn’t have to stop for blood supplies.

Her pace slowed when she saw the airline attendant waiting with the chauffeur. The back doors of the van were thrown wide open, but there was no sign of anyone---or anything---waiting to be loaded.

“Is there a problem?” she asked as she approached.

The attendant smiled, but it was the practiced smile of one skilled in the art of appeasement. “It’s about your traveling partner,” she said.

“What about him?” Sudden visions of arriving at Rupert’s with a bagful of dust sprang into Lydia’s head. Her throat went dry, and she swallowed convulsively to bring back the moisture. Had she been so careless as to get William killed?

“He…well, I suppose there isn’t an easy way of saying this---.”

“Just say it already!”

It was unlike Lydia to lose her cool, and the sharp tone in her voice wiped the smile from the attendant’s face. “It appears he’s made other arrangements to leave the airport,” she said coolly. “I was informed that another agent assisted in him in procuring transportation. He left about fifteen minutes ago.”

While she’d been in the immigration queue. But at least he wasn’t dead, and the relief she felt at that was almost enough to counter the anxiety in having to explain this latest development to Rupert.

She already knew the answer to her next question, but she asked it anyway.

“Did William indicate where he was going?” Lydia quizzed.

“Sunnydale,” came the reply.

* * *

The van jolted along the highway, its suspension obviously shot as Spike jostled around in its dark hold. He probably could’ve paid for something a little more posh, but he didn’t want to run out of the money he’d nicked from Lydia’s cases before he lined up a way to replenish his stocks. He’d just settle for a few hours of bruised bum; considering where he was headed, it was a minor discomfort to stomach.

It hadn’t been completely necessary to ditch the female Watcher entirely; she’d proven more resourceful than he’d ever imagined as they’d searched for Rose. But with his feet firmly back on Californian soil, her usefulness was at an end. This was his turf. He hardly needed her to navigate his way back to Sunnydale, not after decades of moving around the globe with Dru. So, he’d taken the case with Rose’s effects, his few belongings and the bits from their travels that would prove most valuable in his new life on the Hellmouth, and he’d hightailed it out of the airport as fast as he could manage.

Besides, Spike had a sneaking suspicion that Lydia was dragging her feet in returning to Sunnydale. She’d been negative about the entire trip ever since he’d waved Buffy’s letter in her face. Jealousy, he figured, but that was her problem. Not once had he given her even a smidgeon of hope that something could develop between them. If she wanted to nurse her schoolgirl crush, that was her problem now, not his. He had a girl waiting for him to return to her side.

The clincher had been finding Buffy’s second letter in his box just before they’d landed. He’d checked it on a whim, not really expecting to find anything so quickly after the first note. But when he’d seen the envelope, and pulled out what was a real missive detailing her thoughts and life, Spike knew he was lost to her.

She’d actually apologized to him for taking so long to write. He wasn’t so blinded by his feelings not to recognize the magnitude of the gesture she was making, especially when nearly the last thing she said in the letter was that she still missed him. She didn’t bury it in the middle of her ramblings where he might overlook it. No, she put it right where he wouldn’t; that had to mean something.

What meant so much to him, though---outside of her ramblings about being jealous, which was another good reason for ditching Lydia before he stepped foot in Sunnydale---wasn’t so much what she said, but how she said it. Scattered throughout her letter, Spike felt the same tug in his gut that he remembered from William’s encounters with Buffy. She spoke of more than just the superficial. She admitted to weakness, to her days being hard, to her inability to stand up to her friend’s narrow-mindedness. This wasn’t the cocky Slayer he’d known prior to her journey to England. This was the young woman who found a confidant and lover in the shell of a scorned poet, and was attempting to find the man behind the demon now.

She may not have said the words, but there was little doubt in Spike’s mind that she loved him. Buffy was making the effort to merge their lives, and though she had no clue he was so near, he was convinced she would be pleased when he showed up. She wanted him. He wanted her. The equation seemed simple.

It was up to him to ensure it stayed that way.


	8. All Those Friends Which I Thought Buried

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XXXI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike has ditched Lydia and is on the way to Sunnydale alone; Buffy, Xander and Oz decided to try and set up the commandos when they found the transceiver only to unwittingly be overheard by Maggie Walsh, and Willow ran into a mysterious woman named Havi when she tried to see Giles for help…

He’d stalled for as long as he could. When Giles had called him that morning, Wesley’s brain had been too fuzzy from the whiskey they’d consumed the night previous to keep up with his direct questioning, and inadvertently found himself admitting to having to pick up Esme in Los Angeles that morning.

“On a motorcycle?” Giles had asked. “She must be one of the younger witches in the coven, then.”

“Actually, I was going to rent a car.”

“Well, that’s ridiculous. I have a car. I’ll drive. It’ll allow us time to get acquainted before she meets Willow.”

And that had been that. Wesley had been trapped, and there was nothing he could do to prevent Giles from coming without rousing even further suspicion. He had sincerely hoped to delay their meeting until he’d been able to lay the groundwork that would make the encounter less fraught with hostility, but that was no longer an option apparently. He hoped that it would be like ripping off a plaster. One quick yank, and though it might sting and burn for a split second, it would be over.

It didn’t prevent him, however, from trying to delay that yank for as long as possible. He’d arrived late, and then after insisting on stopping along the way for a leisurely lunch, Wesley had feigned forgetting her hotel details, forcing Giles to wait as he pretended to call around the LA establishments trying to locate the witch. Now, though, he was out of ideas, and it was with a leadening heart that he indicated the Marriott at which Esme was staying.

“There’s no reason for you to come up,” Wesley said before Giles had even turned off the motor. He pushed open the door and clambered out of the passenger seat. “I won’t be but a minute.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Giles replied. His temper had been growing increasingly short as the day wore on, and the fact that it was now after three in the afternoon when they could’ve been back to Sunnydale already only contributed to his curt tone. “You have no idea how much luggage she might have. It’ll save time if I come with you as well.”

Wesley sighed, and just nodded his head. His eyes were pulsing from the headache his worrying and plotting had caused, and all he really wanted was to get this day over with. I must remember never to drink with Rupert again, he thought as he headed for the hotel entrance. It will never lead to anything good.

He made sure he was the first to reach her door, and deliberately angled himself so that he was mostly blocking the doorway. It was silly, he knew, but in light of how he feared Giles was going to react, it also seemed like the most self-preserving thing he could accomplish at the moment.

It opened almost before his hand had moved away, and Wesley had to drop his eyes to see the person who had answered. _This_ was who had frightened the Council and the Slayer so? The elderly woman seemed to barely reach his chest---he imagined that she was probably four-ten at the most---and she was so slight that a heavy gust of wind would likely blow her away. Dark eyes gleamed with both annoyance and intelligence, and the wrinkled canvas of her skin was almost like tissue paper.

Her inspection of him was only cursory, however, and it was mere seconds before Esme’s gaze moved past Wesley’s shoulder. Tilting her head to afford a better view, the corner of the old witch’s mouth lifted as she said, “Well, well. I certainly didn’t expect Rupert to be the one to greet me with open arms. How is Miss Summers? Well, I hope.”

The sudden pain that shot through his chest was caused by the slam of his body against the wall, and Wesley’s cheek pressed into the musty paper as Giles pinned him at the door’s side.

“You two-faced bastard!” Giles spat, and Wesley felt the faint spray of spittle as his senior voiced his fury. “You bloody well knew about this all along!”

A strong hand squeezed his neck from behind, pushing until Wesley’s lungs were protesting from the lack of air. Before he could reply, though, a small chuckle from the doorway made both of them jerk.

“You’re not really that frightened of me, are you, Mr. Giles?” Esme’s voice was more than amused. “I’m harmless. _Now_ , that is. Surely the fact that Miss Rosenberg is in need of my assistance is testimony to that.”

“I’m not letting you anywhere near that girl,” Giles hissed.

Though his anger was now redirected to the witch, Giles’ grip didn’t move from his hold on Wesley, though it eased just enough to make breathing a little less labored. “Rupert,” he rasped, but Esme was already answering.

“Then she’ll either go mad, or you’ll have to destroy her,” she said. “Because without me to teach her what exactly she’s capable of now, Miss Rosenberg’s control will continue to slip.”

“ _I_ can teach her what she needs to know.”

Wesley noted Giles’ definitive usage of the singular, and closed his eyes in resignation. He’d failed already. Mr. Travers would not be pleased.

“No, you can’t. Because you haven’t touched the very root of the magics she has at her fingertips, Mr. Giles. And before you try to sell me on your wild, wicked youth, just realize that you were a child, playing with forces you didn’t understand. _I_ was one of those forces you still don’t understand. Before my magic was stolen from me.”

Inwardly, Wesley winced. If she was trying to aggravate Giles even more than her presence already was, the harshness of her tone and the mention of her magic’s “theft” would very likely finish the trick.

“You’re a threat,” Giles said. It sounded like he was speaking through gritted teeth. “You tried to kill my Slayer---.”

“Correction. I _saved_ your Slayer.”

“Only when your own life was in danger.”

“Have you asked her about her time with William?” She was completely changing tactics, this switch in subjects bringing back the casualness to her voice. “You met him, didn’t you? When he saved you from my prison. He was really a charming, erudite young man. Not nearly what I was expecting. Are you trying to tell me that giving them to each other wasn’t benevolent of me?”

The force upon Wesley’s shoulders eased even more, and he pulled away, twisting to stand back as Giles faced off with the elderly witch. Both stood undaunted, each certain of their own rights, and he realized that he truly had no idea how this was going to end up.

Even more curious was Esme’s references to “William.” Surely, she couldn’t mean William the Bloody? Being characterized as charming and erudite sounded like appellations Lydia would use for Spike, not someone who was wise to the ways of the demon world. And what did she mean by “giving them to each other?”

“You had no right to manipulate her in that way,” Giles was saying.

Esme shrugged. “I was doing what I thought was necessary to reach my goals,” she replied. “As soon as I recognized that that wasn’t possible, I amended my plans. You forget. It was _my_ magic that brought her back. She wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for me.”

“And…what? You expect me to simply forget your misdeeds and let you close to her again? How foolish do you really think I am? I read everything the Council has on you. I know you’re obsessed with Slayers---.”

“You’re wrong. I’m obsessed with power.”

Perhaps it was the bluntness with which she made the declaration, or maybe it was the amused honesty shining in Esme’s regard. Either way, Wes saw Giles pause, his eyes narrowing behind his glasses as he scrutinized her every reaction..

“Do you think I stayed with the Council for so many years because I believed in the good they were doing?” she posited, plunging forward into the opening the men’s silence afforded. “I am not you, Mr. Giles, nor am I Mr. Wyndam-Pryce here. I’ve never been motivated by that sort of altruism, regardless of what Quentin may try to believe. I’m motivated by my hunger for strength, for power, and it’s searching for those that has led me here.”

“If you think this is helping your case to come to Sunnydale,” Giles said carefully, “you may wish to think again.”

“And here I thought you’d appreciate my honesty.” Her tongue made a tsking sound that reverberated in the emptiness of the hotel hallway. “If you prefer lies, I’m sure I can get Quentin on the phone. He’s so marvelously talented with them, and he can never seem to refuse to speak with me, the poor sod.”

If Giles didn’t see it, Wesley certainly did, and his earlier estimation of Esme shifted. She was deliberately distancing herself from the man Rupert held the highest scorn for, separating her values from his and attempting to place the three of them on the same side. It was brilliant.

If it didn’t backfire on her.

Giles still wasn’t swayed, although Wesley could sense that the argument was tempting him. “Your so-called honesty means nothing,” he said. “The fact remains, you’re dangerous, and you come here under the guise of helping Willow with admitted ulterior motives. That alone is reason for me not to allow you to see her.”

“Do you even wish to _hear_ my ulterior motives?” Her voice was soft, and she suddenly sounded every bit as old as she looked. “The only danger I pose to you or to Miss Rosenberg is the one you’ve created inside your head. She has my power. That is irrefutable. I wield no sort of magic that she can’t overcome merely by willing it. She’s almost nineteen. She’s young, she’s strong, and without learning how to control the forces she houses now, she’s a threat. To her loved ones, to strangers around her. Most importantly, she’s a threat to herself.”

“That still doesn’t mean _you_ should be the one to help her.”

“Mr. Giles, I’m eighty-one years old. I lived with that power for longer than you’ve been on this earth. I _know_ that power and what’s it capable of. Can you say the same?”

The air in the hall was stifling as her words weighted it with secrets untold and portents many. Giles’ jaw twitched as he regarded her, a deadly gaze that would’ve scared a lesser foe. It was certainly frightening Wesley, though he held himself stiff as he waited for the other Watcher to reach his decision.

“You are never to see Willow unsupervised,” he finally said. “And you are to have no contact with Buffy unless she requests it.”

“I’m not here for Miss Summers,” Esme said simply.

“If I detect even a _hint_ of impropriety on your part,” Giles continued, “I will ship you back to Quentin in your own casket, is that understood?”

She smiled. “I believe you’ll have to stand in line behind your employer for that particular honor,” she commented. “He’s already informed me that Mr. Wyndam-Pryce has carte blanche to sanction my return if I…misbehave.”

When Giles glanced back at him for confirmation, Wesley lifted his chin. “She’s correct,” he said, in a voice that was much surer than he felt. “Mr. Travers is only interested in seeing our efforts succeed. He doesn’t want anything untoward to occur, either.”

Giles’ lips were pinched as he turned to Esme. “Do you have many bags?” he asked stiffly. It was the only acknowledgement he was going to make, and all three of them knew it.

“On the bed.” Stepping aside, she allowed him to enter and retrieve the luggage, her black eyes dancing as they locked with Wesley’s.

The witch didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. Wesley was more than aware by the glee in her gaze that she was delighted with the result of the conversation.

There was one other thing they were both aware of.

For this particular round, _she_ had won.

* * *

It wasn’t the fact that he was in a hotel room that was putting Spike off. It was the fact that he’d paid for the bloody thing rather than ripping open the throat of the clerk and taking the damn room key that was setting his teeth on edge. Though traveling with Lydia had brought with it a forced domestication, he’d not given much thought about it continuing once he was rid of her presence. Really, he’d not given much thought of anything as mundane as his day-to-day once he got to Sunnydale. He’d been too focused on thoughts of Buffy.

But this was the way it had to be, he knew. Buffy would never tolerate such random acts of violence, especially on her home turf, and if Spike was determined to slay at her side, he had to be prepared to make the sacrifices that were necessary. That meant living by more rules than he was normally accustomed. Rules that would probably change on a daily basis as Buffy’s whims took her. Would it be worth it?

He didn’t even bother to answer himself. It was a ridiculous question. Of course, it was bloody worth it.

He’d arrived on the Hellmouth with sunlight still streaming down, so he’d had no choice but ask to be taken to one of the cheaper hotels. The shelter was necessary until he could get out and find something else; once dusk came around, Spike had every intention of combing Sunnydale until he found what he was looking for. He just wasn’t sure yet what that was.

Then, there was the issue of Buffy.

He knew she lived on campus; he knew her address by heart from writing it out so many times. But she wasn’t expecting him. His last letter had hinted that he could be on his way, but they’d left in such a flurry, he’d not had the chance to write another announcing his arrival. And he couldn’t write it now. It would have a Sunnydale postmark on it. That would just be redundant.

So, as he waited for the sun to set, Spike weighed his options. He could get her number and try calling, but for some inexplicable reason, that made his stomach tie up in knots, like he was some pimply-faced kid attempting to ask a girl out on his first date. Writing out what was going on inside his head had always been his preferred method---and the moment that thought registered, Spike scowled.

It wasn’t _Spike’s_ preferred method. It was William’s. It still took him by surprise when the git let his presence be known.

But Buffy loved William. She’d proven that William had a bit of spirit, after all. It wasn’t such a bad thing any more to admit to his more William-like tendencies, even if he had spent the better part of his unlife denying them.

Still didn’t mean he wanted to call her.

He didn’t want to just show up unannounced, either. Somewhere, in the shadowed recesses of his hotel room, doubt had set in. Buffy had only just come to grips with writing him. If he showed his face around her dorm without fair notice, would he only serve to scare her away again? He knew she couldn’t be happy about being in love with another vampire. Angelus had certainly done a number on her, and the fact that she bemoaned how she was going to tell Harris screamed loud and clear that she was floundering when it came to coping with the truth of Spike. Spike didn’t care what her friends bloody thought, but that wasn’t what mattered.

What mattered was that he didn’t muck this up now. He was here. He had too much to lose.

The decision when it came was simple. He’d come to help Buffy slay; he’d hit the cemeteries and prove to her with his actions that he was true to his word. Not only was leaping straight into the fray more his style, but the exertions would work out some of the kinks traveling across the world had created in his muscles. A little rough, a little tumble, and if he happened to run into Buffy while she was on patrol, well, then that was just an added bonus, wasn’t it?

* * *

“You didn’t have to come.”

Smiling, Willow squeezed his hand, relishing in the feel of his fingers interlaced with hers. “And miss out on quality time with my guy? Not a chance.”

“I just thought, you know, with what happened last night, you might not want to come back so soon.” Oz came to a stop at the foot of the dug-up grave, letting the backpack he carried slip from his shoulder as he kicked at the loose dirt. “At least we know this one is empty.”

“Which is already _much_ better than last night.” She flashed him her brightest smile as proof that she was all right, and was rewarded when he leaned in to brush his lips across hers. That was better. Just the light touch was all Willow needed to ease the nerves that were tightening her stomach. It had been an excruciatingly _long_ day.

She’d never hooked up with Giles. Though she had spoken to him when he’d called for Buffy, when she’d heard that he was still out of town, that he and Wesley had gone to Los Angeles to fetch the Council’s witch, Willow had held her tongue about going out in search of him. It was going to be hard enough talking about how the magic made her feel; doing it on the phone made it doubly bad. She would just wait and do it after her classes on Monday, she reasoned. One more day certainly couldn’t make a difference, plus there was the bonus of the witch being present as well.

Then, there had been the business with the gizmo Buffy had brought back from her morning recon with the guys. It took Willow no time at all to figure out that it was a transceiver of some kind, but the moment she took off the back of its casing to further examine its capabilities, the small engine inside had blown up with a puff of smoke.

Only one thing seemed to come to fruition that day. She had translated what the strange Havi had said to her on leaving Giles’ apartment complex, but it only added to the unease that made her heart inexplicably race at the odd interval, her brow to suddenly break out in sweat.

_“A fire can’t throw a great light without burning something.”_

She didn’t know what to make of it. There was the literal parallel to what had occurred with the vampire, but that seemed too simple. Was it a warning? Was this woman who looked for Giles trying to put Willow on alert not to let things get out of hand? Or did she mean the opposite, that things had to get a little out of hand in order for Willow to win?

Either possibility filled her with dread.

She hated philosophy. It was far too abstract. Bits and bytes were better any day of the week.

She was startled from her gloomy reverie by the gentle tug of Oz’s hand. When she looked at him, he didn’t speak, just tilted his head with a slight upturn of his mouth, and led her to the headstone. His hand fell from hers, settled on her hips as he positioned her in front of it, and he helped guide her to a seat along its curved top.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured, stepping between her legs.

Willow closed her eyes and breathed him in as his lips met hers. Letting her arms come up to curl around his shoulders, she decided that coming out with him to stakeout the transceiver’s owners was the best decision she’d made all day.

* * *

“Damn it.”

His mouth was set in a tight line as he lowered the night-vision binoculars, but even without the extra visual boost, Riley could still see the couple occupying the space he’d been ordered to watch.

“There a problem?” Like a ghost, Forrest suddenly appeared at his elbow, his eyes trained on his superior officer.

“He’s not alone,” came the terse reply. It was bad enough he recognized the young man Dr. Walsh was convinced was the local werewolf, but to see Willow Rosenberg there as well turned this particular assignment into a disaster waiting to happen. “He brought a date.”

“So, we knock out the girl and take in the HST. Simple.”

“I know them. Not so simple.”

For a long moment, the men under his command held themselves completely still while they allowed Riley to think. The soft whisper of a bird overhead floated through the night, and it wasn’t until its echo was erased from the air that Finn spoke again.

“Take this,” he said. Stripping off his jacket, he tossed it to Forrest, following it quickly with the holster that was strapped around his waist. That left him in his fatigues and t-shirt, and though he still looked way too military than he would’ve liked, at least he wasn’t an obvious threat. Maybe Willow wouldn’t notice.

“What’re you doing?” Forrest asked as Riley began to move away from the cover of the trees that hid them.

“I don’t want to hurt the girl,” he said. “I’m going to bring the HST to us. Be ready.” And with that, he melted into the night.

* * *

He stopped when he heard the voices, his head cocking as he listened to the rhythms of their bodies.

Human.

Spike sniffed at the air.

And frowned.

Amend that. One of them was only mostly human. The other was…

Red.

As he crept forward, the voices became louder, and the confirmation that it was Willow and some male echoed with a resounding clarity. Hope began to burn inside Spike’s chest, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the young redhead’s presence meant Buffy was here as well. He could sense other humans nearby, and one specifically approaching the pair, but none of them smelled like the Slayer. Perhaps she was merely busy elsewhere at the moment.

Using the foliage as cover, Spike’s shadow melted into the trunk of a tree as his gaze fell on the pair he sought. No one would be aware of his presence; a century of experience had long ago taught him how to disappear when the need arose. But he could still watch. And he could still hear. And he could still wait until Buffy came back to her friends.

“…there tomorrow,” Willow was saying.

The young man with her nodded, and the light of the almost full moon revealed his face just enough for Spike to recognize him as the boyfriend. Oz. That one was the werewolf Buffy had mentioned. That was why he didn’t smell quite right.

“Do you want me there?” he said. His hands were resting possessively on her hips, the tilt of his body even more watchful, and Spike felt a rumble of accord with the young man he’d never really gotten to know. Oz loved Willow; it was there in his muscles for all to see. He’d fight to protect her with every inch he had, even if he wasn’t much more than a grasshopper.

Spike respected that.

“Nah,” Willow said. “I mean, I _do_ want you there, but it’s not---.” She was cut off when Oz suddenly shifted, and Spike saw the looming shadow of the person he’d already sensed approaching them.

“Hi, Willow. Hi, Oz.”

Spike didn’t know the voice, but something behind the false jocularity made him edge forward, his face shifting so that he could better see the new arrival. Looming had been an understatement. The man was a tower, solidly built, wearing fatigue trousers that were only slightly baggy. His hands were empty, but as Spike’s gaze scanned him, the vampire easily noted the long bulge along the outer side of his left calf. Probably a knife of some sort, tucked into his boot.

As the three engaged in easy conversation, Spike’s frown deepened. They knew each other, but why would Captain Marvel there be wearing a concealed weapon? Unless…he was working with Buffy and the rest to help patrol.

Spike didn’t like that thought at all.

He turned his head to look in the direction the man had come from, and easily picked out the other three shadows lurking in wait. More humans.

What in bloody hell was going on?

“…know it’s a lot to ask, but it’ll just take a minute. I swear,” the man said, jerking his thumbing back in the direction of his buddies.

Whatever Spike had missed, Oz wasn’t completely sold. “I’m kind of waiting for someone,” he said.

“In a graveyard?”

“Why is it _you’re_ here?”

“I told you. It’s a fraternity thing.”

“But isn’t it against the code to get strangers involved?”

Something wasn’t right, and Spike could tell that Oz knew it. Again, his gaze flickered to the others, and his mind settled on what he should do.

* * *

“What’s he doing?”

Forrest hissed, warning the grunt to stay quiet. “He’s talking to them,” he replied in a voice that was barely a whisper.

“We’re not supposed to be talking. We’re supposed to be capturing. This is bullshit.”

“Bullshit or not, Finn’s the officer in command here. He told us to wait, so we wait.”

The dissenting grumbles made Forrest’s hands tighten around his weapon. He didn’t like it, either, but Riley knew what he was talking about. They couldn’t take down a civilian without proper authorization, especially one as non-threatening as the girl seemed to be.

“What if we sneak up from behind? Knock the girl out so she doesn’t know what’s going on, and take the werewolf. End of problem.”

“Finn said---,” Forrest started, but as he was turning to direct his response at the grunt who wouldn’t keep his trap shut, a flash of something black caught the corner of his eye, and he turned just in time to take the full force of the vampire’s fist as it connected with his jaw.

He fell to the ground in a daze, looking up to see the demon grab the grunt who’d been arguing. With a single quick jerk, the vampire snapped the grunt’s neck, and then kicked out behind without even looking when the other soldier started to draw his weapon. The other was killed just as quickly, a fist smashing into the man’s nose that drove it with deadly force into his brain, and then all that was left was Forrest.

And the vampire.

“Looks like I broke up your little party,” the demon drawled. It wasn’t even wearing its demon mask, blue eyes gazing down at Forrest with cruel disgust. The slight breeze caught the hem of its long leather coat, making it billow slightly around its legs. “Would say I’m sorry, except, well, I’m not.”

Slowly, Forrest’s eyes were starting to refocus. If he wanted to live, he had to be smart about this. His tazer was in easy reach of his left hand, but if he moved too quickly, the vampire would be on him and he could just say goodbye to surviving. He’d seen how swiftly the monster could kill. Forrest wouldn’t even have time to draw a weapon.

“Not hungry?” he said, jerking his chin toward the dead bodies of his team. The thought that he was offering their bodies as culinary diversion made his stomach revolt, but there was nothing else he could do.

The vamp shrugged. “More interested in hearin’ why it is you lot are after a werewolf,” it replied. “Known a few hunters in my time, but would’ve sussed you as more of the kegger kind.”

Forrest’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Then you would be wrong,” he growled. His hand was inching toward his tazer. If he could just keep the demon talking…

The air was suddenly blocked from his throat, and Forrest’s head slammed back into the earth, the explosion of light before his eyes more indicative of the force in the attack than any physical phenomenon. He’d never even seen the vampire move, and yet, now it pinned him to the ground, one hand wrapped around the front of his throat, the other a steel vise around the wrist that was only centimeters from the tazer.

“Don’t like you,” the vampire said, and though the hatred on its face gleamed in the moonlight, its voice was bereft of any obvious emotion. If anything, it sounded bored. “And I like the thought of you hurtin’ one of Buffy’s friends even less.”

Blue shifted to gold, and Forrest winced at the carnivorous smile that curled around the fangs.

It was the last thing he ever saw.

* * *

When Riley had first approached, Oz hadn’t thought anything of it. It wouldn’t be the first time frat boys used a Sunnydale cemetery as a hazing ground.

But the longer he talked, and the more Riley tried to convince Willow to go home, the more Oz began to distrust him. He noticed the dark pants. He noticed the heavy boots. He remembered the sole marks he’d seen in the trampled grass earlier that day.

He became convinced Riley had something to do with Buffy’s mysterious vigilantes. There was no way he was letting Willow out of his sight.

“Maybe you should call the police if you’re so worried about them,” Oz said. The faint scent of blood in the air made his nose twitch, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Finn. Behind him, Willow was growing tenser, and when she hopped down from the headstone, Oz started to step sideways to try and shield her from the interaction.

The charge of electricity crackled through the night air, and Willow gave a slight yelp before crumbling to the earth. Before Oz could react, Riley had his meaty hand on the smaller man’s shoulder, his other cradling the tiny tazer that he’d used to knock out Willow.

“I didn’t want to do it like this,” he said. If Oz didn’t know better, he would’ve almost said that the man sounded apologetic. “You’ve given me no choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” Oz replied.

“Yeah,” a man’s voice said from the darkness. “A bloke’s always got a choice.”

Without releasing his hold on Oz, Riley whirled in the direction of the sound. The smell of blood was stronger now, and Oz saw the source of it as Spike emerged from the shadows. When Finn lifted his arm to shoot at the vamp, Spike dove through the air, tackling the larger man and driving him into the grass with a force that snapped Riley’s wrist when it broke free from Oz’s shoulder.

The weapon went flying, but Spike didn’t seem to care, his fists a pale blur as they pounded into the man’s face. His jaw was set in grim determination, his blue eyes icy, and when Riley’s rolled back, the lids shutting as he lapsed into unconsciousness, a vicious smile of satisfaction creased the vampire’s features.

“Serves you bloody right,” he said as he hopped to his feet. He turned to look at Oz, his gaze flickering to the inert form of Willow at the foot of the grave. “She OK?” he asked with a jerk of his head

Immediately, Oz knelt to check her pulse. It was slow, but steady, her breathing even. He nodded. “Just a stun gun.”

“Yeah. His buddies had those little trinkets, too.”

The silence between them was awkward. “I’d say thanks,” Oz finally said, “except last time you were in town…”

Spike grimaced, the unspoken reference to the incident at the factory clearly not lost on him. “Figure that’s deserved,” he said. “Still, you shouldn’t be out here without the Slayer around. Him and his lot were lookin’ to take you in. You’re just lucky I happened along when I did.”

“How do _you_ know what they were planning?”

“Heard ‘em talkin’ before I…” He stopped. He didn’t have to say it aloud. They both knew he’d killed them.

More silence.

“Did they say why?” Oz asked. At Spike’s confused frown, he clarified, “Why they wanted me. Buffy’s only seen them being interested in vampires.”

“It was because of you bein’ a werewolf. Didn’t figure them for hunters, though. They don’t have the look.”

“They’re not.” He’d been right. Riley Finn was part of the vigilante group Buffy was so concerned about. His gaze slid to the body on the ground, and he saw the flicker of movement before Spike did. “Look out!”

The vampire reacted on instinct.

Leaping out of the way of the blade that had emerged from nowhere, Spike twisted to grab Riley from behind, his forearm going around his throat while his hand wrapped around the wrist that held the knife. He snarled as he fought the other man’s strength, and when Finn stabbed downwards in an obvious attempt to hit his opponent’s leg, Spike redirected the blow so that the length of the blade sank into Riley’s abdomen.

As Oz watched, Riley fell to his knees, the blood already starting to bubble at his lips. A surprised Spike stepped back, his eyes riveted on the knife that protruded from the man’s upper abdomen, and before Oz could say a word, turned and fled into the night.


	9. My Weary Travel's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet L.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Giles has agreed to allow Esme to return to Sunnydale, and Spike stumbled across the Initiative trying to get Oz, only to kill the entire team before they could and then ran off…

He panicked.

He wasn’t fussed that he’d killed the wanker; as far as Spike was concerned, it was both a matter of self-preservation and helping out Red’s boyfriend.

But when the body fell from his arms, and Spike got the faintest whiff of the Slayer on the breeze, the sudden thought that Buffy’s first sight of him in Sunnydale would be standing over a human dead by his own hands terrified Spike beyond reason.

So, he did the only thing he could.

He ran.

And wondered desperately how he was going to sugarcoat this for his Slayer’s stomach.

* * *

Her head was a muddle.

What had started out as a routine patrol before taking over the watch from Oz had quickly degenerated into a series of odd and just plain wiggy occurrences, and now Buffy was trudging through Restfield wondering what to make of it all.

The three dead demon bodies she’d stumbled across at Mercy Memorial, at least one of which had had its head completely torn from its body.

The vampire who’d run in the opposite direction when he’d heard who she was.

And the girl she’d literally bumped into outside Restfield. The one who’d been running away from something, but when Buffy had grabbed her to try and discover the source of her fear, all the girl could babble was something about her date exploding into dust and a man in black leather telling her to run.

It looked like someone had gone on a demon-killing spree tonight, but who it could be and why he was doing it escaped Buffy’s grasp. If the girl had claimed that the man in black had kidnapped the vamp, then Buffy’d be inclined to think it was the vigilante group at work again. But she hadn’t. She said he’d _killed_ it and made her escape. Which left so many---or so few, if she cared to look at it that way---other possibilities about what could be going on that all Buffy wanted was to start the whole night over again and pretend she hadn’t found out any of it.

Her mind was elsewhere as she entered the clearing, but the smell of blood quickly cut through her preoccupation. Her head snapped up. There, next to the grave where they’d found the transceiver, Oz was crouching over an unconscious Willow. Automatically, Buffy broke into a run.

“What happened?” she said when she got to his side. Her gaze scanned over Willow, but saw no signs of cuts or bites. “She wasn’t attacked again, was she?”

“Not exactly.” Oz jerked his chin toward a lump in the darkness, waiting until Buffy stood and took a step toward it before adding, “Your vigilantes showed up.”

The coppery smell of blood grew stronger as she approached what she now realized was a body. He wore the same military-style clothing of the GI Joe from her previous encounters, and his breathing bubbled erratically, but it wasn’t until she was nearly on top of him that Buffy recognized the open features of the face.

“Riley…?” Her voice was barely a breath, and more than a shade of incredulity lingered in the air. She froze. In the space of that second, Riley coughed wetly, and then fell silent.

“I can’t believe you killed him,” Buffy murmured.

“I didn’t.”

Her head whipped around, her eyes wide. “Did _Willow_ do this?”

The accusation made Oz frown, and his grip tightened on the young woman he cradled, as if he needed to shield her. “Riley knocked her out when she wouldn’t leave,” he said.

“Why?”

“He was trying to get me to come with him.”

“If Willow didn’t do it---.”

“Buffy.” The solemnity of his tone made her stop. “Someone else was here.”

Though he hadn’t raised his voice, something in the way Oz spoke made Buffy’s blood run cold. “What. Happened,” she said, and held her breath while he quietly related the story.

“Riley showed up. He said one of his frat’s pledges had gotten into trouble, and he needed some help. He kept trying to talk Willow into going back to the dorm so that I could help him alone, but his story wasn’t adding up. When he wouldn’t let it go, I told him to call the police, but turns out he didn’t like that suggestion. He grabbed me and pulled some sort of gun that knocked out Willow.” He paused, his gaze dark as he seemed to contemplate his words. “Someone jumped him before Riley could use the gun on me. They got into a fight.”

“Someone? A vamp?”

Pause.

“Yeah. Buffy…it was Spike.”

Spike.

_Here?_

A man in black leather.

“What? _No_.”

“It’s not what you’re thinking. Spike…well, I’m pretty sure he saved me. Riley and his buddies were here to catch a werewolf. If it wasn’t for Spike---.”

“If it wasn’t for Spike, Riley would be alive right now.” Her shock was turning her to steel. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t dwell. She wouldn’t consider that _Spike_ was in Sunnydale. That he was killing.

That he hadn’t even bothered to tell her he was back.

“And I’d be gone. And who knows what would’ve happened to Willow.” Gently, Oz eased Willow off his lap and rose to face off with Buffy. “I’m not saying it’s a good thing Riley’s dead, but frankly, better him than me. Besides, he’s the one who pulled the knife. The first time around, Spike just knocked him out.”

_First time…?_

“That’s _his_ knife?”

“He tried stabbing Spike, but it didn’t work.”

Obviously.

“You said something about…Riley’s buddies?” she asked. Get answers. Don’t dwell.

“Spike said he heard them talking.” He jerked his chin. “Over there.”

Her head swiveled so that she could stare into the blackness of the cemetery, but Buffy was certain that if she went to look, she wasn’t going to find a group of college boys trying to figure out where their hazing went wrong. She’d find a group of dead bodies dressed up like soldier boys. Bodies that Spike had left behind.

“But how…” She started, and then stopped. She didn’t have to ask the question about how the vigilante group had known to stake out the spot they’d dropped their gizmo. The memory of how she’d been playing with its buttons made her cheeks flame unseen in the darkness.

Slowly, she backed away from Riley. She would be getting no answers about her mysterious military men tonight. “Can you get Willow back to the dorm on your own?” Buffy asked, keeping her voice even and emotionless.

“Yeah,” came the reply. “If you can help me get her to my van.”

“I can do that.”

Silently, she strode back and scooped Willow into her arms, shaking aside the thought that it was the second time in as many days that she was carrying her best friend unconscious out of Restfield Cemetery. Oz followed her through the grounds, just as mute, not speaking again until he was ensconced behind the steering wheel and Buffy was already walking away from him, down the street and toward the heart of town.

“He didn’t have to help us,” he called out.

Stopping, Buffy lifted her head to stare up at the nearly full moon, her eyes burning from the tears she refused to shed. “I know,” she said softly, and carefully, resumed her path.

* * *

She’d slept most of the journey, so now that the hour neared midnight and she waited for Wesley to pick up her keys from the hotel clerk, Esme’s body clock was on full protest of the California time, her mind alert as she drank in the austere surroundings. It wasn’t nearly as nice as the Los Angeles hotel, but considering she was due to stay in town for more than a single night, Esme knew that the Council was cutting its corners however it could. Still, it was functional, the staff plastic and polite, and should she find herself in need of midnight assistance, Esme was fairly certain she would get it. Sometimes, being old could be a distinct advantage.

Giles had dropped them off with barely a civil salutation. His eyes had been flinty, even through his glasses, but rather than frighten her as he intended, his antagonism served to excite Esme. He was a challenge. She thrived when faced with challenges. It was how she’d managed to survive for so long. And while Giles may have felt he currently had the upper hand, she and Wesley knew different.

This was going to be a most interesting game.

“Your room is directly across the hall from mine,” Wesley said. He was suddenly before her, towering above her diminutive form, his blue eyes icy. In his hand, he proffered a thin card, and she took it without saying a word. “I expect to be informed of your whereabouts at all times,” he said as he leaned to pick up her bags. “If you leave the hotel without me, you will let me know.” He began walking toward the elevator, not even bothering to look behind to see if she was following. “If you find you require certain amenities, you will let me know so that I can obtain them for you. All spending must be approved by me---.”

“Do you wish me to keep a log of trips to the bathroom as well?” she asked, mildly amused.

He ignored her sarcasm and punched the up button. “Willow has classes tomorrow. Giles and I agreed while you were asleep that she will be forewarned of your involvement. The choice of whether she will be working with you will be left entirely in her hands, so we will not know until tomorrow night at the earliest whether your presence will be required further.”

With a soft whisper, the elevators doors slid open. “She’ll agree,” Esme said as she stepped into the car.

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because I’m the only one who understands,” she replied.

He didn’t say another word until he’d dropped her bags on the second bed in her room. Even then, Wesley merely uttered a perfunctory good night before letting himself out, and Esme sat at the desk, wondering how it was she was going to pass her night if she couldn’t sleep.

The knock came within a minute of Wesley’s departure. Shaking her head at the Watcher’s incompetence, she rose to answer it, curious about what it was that he had forgotten.

Though the man on the other side of the door was tall and dark, it wasn’t Wesley.

“What are you doing here?” Esme hissed. As her gaze darted furtively to the closed door behind him, she reached forward and curled her hand around his tattooed arm, yanking forward to guide him into her room.

“I waited until your Englishman was gone,” he said. His tone was mocking, but he allowed the older woman to lead him to privacy, his lips curled into a smirk even when the door was shut behind him.

“Cutting it a bit close, though, weren’t you?”

“You worry too much.”

“And I’m still alive, which should show you that perhaps worrying is for the best.” The rush of adrenaline that had coursed through her veins at seeing him at her door dissipated, leaving Esme drained. She waved toward the empty chair as she returned to sit at the desk. “Don’t hover, Baltozar,” she ordered. “I hate it when you hover.”

Chuckling, the Spaniard obeyed her command, slouching in the uncomfortable seat and propping his boots up on the table. Her nose wrinkled in disgust, but she noted that at least his shoes were clean, even if his appearance left more than a little to be desired.

“Enjoying your time stateside?” he asked casually. He reached for the remote control, turning it on to a low volume. “You have to see some of their television. Americans are worse than the Japanese when it comes to their entertainment.”

“Does your presence here mean it’s done?”

He nodded. “In and out. The vampire and his girl Watcher pet found the seer too late. Just like you wanted.”

For the first time since seeing the mercenary at her door, Esme smiled. “Is it snowing? It feels like Christmastime to me all of a sudden.”

“Just tell me I won’t have to stay in this godforsaken place any longer than I have to. That’ll make it Christmas for me.”

“You must be patient, Baltozar. I’ve only just arrived. It will take some time for me to determine how to get my powers back. In the meantime, treat this as a little vacation. You have Havi to keep you company, right?”

His lips tightened. “Havi is already preoccupied.”

She couldn’t help the excitement his words wrought, and leaned forward, her eyes dark with hunger. “Did she tell you more? Are they really here?”

Disgustedly, Baltozar jabbed at the power switch on the remote, turning off the TV before tossing the controller aside. “She tells me nothing,” he spat. He rose to his feet and began pacing the length of the room like a caged lion. “I get only the smallest of details when she allows them to slip. It’s infuriating.”

“I thought she trusted you. She did help you in killing Rose, didn’t she?”

“That doesn’t mean she was pleased with it.”

“But it’s done. And the fact that she followed you here to the Hellmouth confirms what we already suspected. Give her time. She’ll tell you where they are. By the time she does, I’ll have my magic back, and we’ll be able to move on to the next step.”

His knuckles were white from the tension in his fisted hands, but Baltozar contained his vexation with the control his years spent in a dangerous world had taught him. “This better be worth it, old woman,” he growled.

Her brows lifted. “You haven’t grown _feelings_ for the girl, have you?” Esme commented. “Well. I have to say I’m intrigued. I didn’t think you had it in you. But, isn’t that… _dangerous_ in your line of work?”

He had no response to that. Instead, he stopped his pacing at her side, glaring down at her as he reached past to grab a pen and a piece of the hotel stationery. “This is how you can get hold of me,” Baltozar said as he scrawled out a phone number. “Havi is staying with me but you don’t have to worry about her answering the phone. If today is any indication, she probably won’t be around very much.”

She took it with a nod. “You should keep an eye on her,” Esme said. “Build her trust so that she divulges what she knows.”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

“And don’t presume you can treat me like a fool simply because I’m temporarily without my powers.” Her voice had gone from amused to deadly in the space of a second. “It would be wise to remember that _I_ am the only reason you even breathe today. If it wasn’t for me, you would be sniveling in some back alley of El Ferrol and not on the Council payroll, living a life that should’ve been stolen from you twenty years ago. I gave you this opportunity. It’s still within my grasp to take it away.”

The muscles in his jaw twitched, but in spite of Esme’s magisterial carriage, he lifted his chin and glared back at her defiantly. “Leave Havi to me, and we will have no more problems,” Baltozar said simply.

She regarded him for a long moment. “Agreed.”

The concession pricked the balloon of his agitation just enough for his shoulders to relax, and he stooped to pick up the remote again. “It was a shame you weren’t in Barcelona for the grand show,” he said, resuming his sprawling seat. “That Rose never even saw me coming.”

Though his words made her pause, Esme shook off the unease that chilled her flesh. “What’s more important,” she said, “is that the Slayer doesn’t see you coming. Not until we need her again.”

* * *

Her skin was tingling long before she saw the club, and Buffy’s step slowed, indecision clenching her stomach in a fist of ice. Was she ready for this? What if he wasn’t actually here? If she was wrong, could she really follow through on staking him?

God, she really didn’t want to have to kill him.

There was a possibility she was wrong, too. He’d been nowhere around at Restfield; as she and Oz had walked out to the van, she’d scanned what she could of the grounds, but there had been no tinglies to indicate any kind of vamps in the vicinity. He was just…gone.

But prior to his encounter with Riley, Spike had been out that night with purpose. Buffy had little doubt that he was the one who’d saved the girl from the vampire date, and she suspected he was responsible for the demon deaths as well. It wasn’t that he was avoiding letting her know he was in town.

He’d been _slaying_. Doing her job.

Doing what he’d promised her on the banks, in each of his letters, with every word, that he would do for her once he got to Sunnydale.

Buffy was pinning her hopes on Spike wigging out when he realized he’d killed a group of humans. Oz had said he hadn’t killed Riley right away, that he’d only done it in self-defense, and while killing of any humans was still wrong to her, it at least mitigated some of the damaging intent.

And she knew that if Spike was upset, Spike drank.

Which, on a Sunday night in Sunnydale, didn’t leave a lot of options open for him.

For a while there, she’d contemplated going to the Bronze. He was familiar with it, and would likely be comfortable with the pounding music and heated bodies.

But pounding music had brought up the memory of the Factory. And the fact that she’d just written to him about its new opening. And how Spike had taken Willow and Xander there the last time he’d been in town.

So that was where she stood. Staring at the techno exterior with a sickening sense of dread that he wouldn’t really be inside.

Terrified that he actually would.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy skirted the crowd that milled out front, avoiding the eyes of the bouncer at the door to dart unseen down the alley. She didn’t have time to deal with the politics of waiting for entrance; if Spike wasn’t here, she needed to get over to the Bronze before it closed and check for him there. After that, she wasn’t sure what she would do. She’d cross that bridge if and when she got to it.

The music made the air inside the club pulse with a frenetic energy, a contagion that whispered in her ear to dance though she was far from the mood for frivolity. It surged, and ebbed, undulating over her bare arms with the hungry demand of a jealous lover, the power it offered intoxicating. She blinked, pausing as she adjusted to the lack of light, and steeled her stomach against the onslaught of perfumes and colognes when she inhaled. She was dizzy. She wouldn’t be able to find him easily. She needed to get a birds-eye view.

Much of the scaffolding had been left in place during the club’s construction, made safer to conform to safety codes. With so much of the Factory’s activity centered on the floor, only the brave or lonely were driven upward, compelled to navigate the precarious stepladders that served as stairs, the metallic creaks and groans drowned out by the music that blared from too-many speakers. Carefully, Buffy climbed the nearest steps, her gaze searching the crowd for a sign of leather, a flash of platinum, and she pushed her way past the questing hands of a young man who looked like he was going to topple over the railing, noting the bloodshot eyes and the powerful reek of beer.

There were too many people. She was never going to find him. As she paused along a break in the catwalk, Buffy felt her mood plummet as she realized that she’d been wrong.

And then…she felt the tingle.

Like the hesitant caress of a bedpartner who thought his lover still slept.

And her head turned, her eyes lifting up and away from the throng to level against the upper deck. Searching for the source.

Found it.

Found him.

And the music disappeared. All she could hear was the pounding of her pulse inside her skull. All she could see was Spike.

His head was bowed, his face in profile to her. He sat at one of the small tables that had been placed on the scaffolding with his back to the crowd, a bottle of Jack Daniels nearly full before him. Even in the dim light, she could see that he’d grown his hair out a little, stopped being so stringent with the gel that kept it slicked back. A few loose curls were mussed along the top, and in the ocean of that moment when she first spotted him, she was no longer in the cacophonous Factory.

She was in London. Sitting on the banks and watching him as he told of how much he didn’t want her to go.

As if he knew he was being watched, Spike’s head slowly lifted, turning with excruciating lethargy toward her, stopping when she appeared in his field of vision. The cast of his skin was a mixture of bone-white and blood-red, the spattering from the lights making it even more otherworldly than it normally appeared, but his eyes were left in shadow, even when she felt them boring into her.

Even when she resumed the trek toward him.

Though the specter of Riley’s dead body lingered in the back of her mind, there was a curious euphoria suffusing her limbs that made her feel like she was walking on air and not a steel grate. In that second, Buffy didn’t care that Spike had killed someone she’d had a passing acquaintance with.

She was just glad he was here.

* * *

He knew it was just an effect of the strobes overhead, but when he saw Buffy standing on the catwalk, just a matter of a few feet away instead of the miles and oceans that had separated him from her for so long, Spike would’ve sworn she glowed.

She’d let her hair grow longer, the slightly curling ends gracing the middle of her back as it hung loose over her shoulders. The gauzy white top she wore allowed her tanned skin to peek through in snatches of sensual promise, but it was the way the low-slung black slacks hugged her hips that made Spike’s mouth go dry.

She looked good. She looked better than good. She looked…content.

The doubt he’d felt at the hotel returned, kicking and screaming and sounding remarkably like Angelus when Spike had been laid up in the wheelchair. Taunts about how inadequate he was. Gibes about how she was better off without him. Now he had the truth of it standing in front of him---correction, walking toward him---and he could just call himself a bloody fool for putting so much stock in a few hastily scribbled words.

He looked away as she approached. As much as he wanted to etch the sight of her into his memory, Spike wasn’t willing to let Buffy see just how badly she was getting to him, how much he wanted to pretend that he couldn’t see the truth of her wellbeing and take her in his arms with vows to never leave again. He felt her pause, wait, and heard the skittering of her heartrate. Not excitement. Not fear.

_What was she waiting for?_

“Someone’s had a busy night.”

No greeting. Straight to business. That wasn’t good.

“Well, you know me, pet. Can’t keep a bad vamp down.”

He sounded glib. Cocky. Exactly as he’d planned. Not as he wanted.

She was walking by him then, so close that all he had to do was lift his hand and he could be touching her, but Spike settled for breathing in her scent, wondering at the curious mixture that seemed so like her and not. When she sat in the chair opposite, he looked up, but rather than the self-righteous smugness that had been her expression of choice prior to that summer, he was greeted with a naked longing that she hastily hid when he met her eyes.

“So, what do you think?” she asked, and her tone was frighteningly casual.

Spike frowned. “Of what?”

Buffy gestured toward the dancing crowd below. “What they’ve done to the place. Although you picked a much better spot to sit in than we did. I can actually hear you up here.”

She wanted to talk about the club? Confusion made Spike sit up, glance at the whiskey bottle he hadn’t really been drinking anyway. “It’s all right,” he said carefully. “Not exactly my cup of tea, but it’ll do in a pinch.”

“So…I guess that means you got my letter.”

Sitting there with her hands twisting in her lap, Buffy looked more like the girl he’d first encountered in the dreams than the Slayer he remembered, and felt his chest tighten. “Yeah,” he said, though it was so soft he was certain she didn’t hear him. Her heartbeat wasn’t so rapid because of fear. She was _nervous_. About seeing him. Why?

He saw it then, slivers of light that danced on her wrist. Stopping from reaching for it was impossible, and he heard her sharp intake of breath as he leaned across the table and took her hand in his, turning it over so that he could better see the bracelet dangle from the delicate limb.

Spike tightened his grip when she started to pull away, lifting his eyes to meet hers. “Knew it would look good on you,” he said. Her pulse danced beneath his thumb. “But you’re still more beautiful than it is.”

Cheeks flaring with color, Buffy snatched her hand back, but he was glad when she didn’t avert her gaze. “I thought…” she started, and then decided against whatever she’d been about to say, chewing at her lip in a gesture that was endearingly innocent.

It was time to stop dancing around the subject. “How’s Red?” Spike asked, leaning back in his chair. “The boy said she was just knocked cold.”

Reminder of why she was there seemed to snap her out of the fugue she’d been in, and the Slayer returned in full control. “You could’ve stuck around to see for yourself,” she snapped. “What’s with the Invisible Man act?”

He shrugged. “Not much of one for the sentimental claptrap that comes from rescuing the damsel,” he said.

“That must be why you didn’t stick around after dusting that girl’s date, either,” she shot back. When he jerked back in surprise, she smiled. “What? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? This is _my_ town, Spike. You can’t keep secrets from me for very long.”

“Well, well,” he drawled, “look who’s grown up into her own Wyatt Earp.”

“I just don’t like being in the dark. You, of all people, should know that.”

The rebuke stung. “So…what? You come here to get me out of your hair for good?” He deliberately let his eyes slither over her form, waiting until she felt it just as surely as if he’d taken her in his arms. “Don’t see where you’re hidin’ your stake, though those few extra pounds you’ve put on are certainly in the right places.”

“What? I’m not---.” Suddenly self-conscious, Buffy folded into herself, crossing her arms in front of her to shield herself from his inspection. “It’s not going to work, Spike. I’m not going to let you distract me by calling me fat.”

“Now you’re puttin’ words in my mouth, luv. All’s I said was that life’s been more than a little good for you since last I saw. It’s a shame I wasn’t around to help you with the shopping, though. That’s one secret Victoria shouldn’t be so stingy with, if you ask me.”

A lull in the music settled the club into a dull roar, driving both of them to silence. It was almost that each needed the sanctuary of the noise to bolster their nerve to speak, but when the next record started, Buffy was the one who found the strength to break the peace.

“You didn’t let me know.” Her voice was soft, aching, and her eyes refused to meet his. “You said…were you ever going to tell me you were back?”

That was it, then. All his fears about disappointing her with his presence had driven him to be laggardly in letting her know, and it was that which now drove the distance between them. “I’ve only just been,” Spike replied. He kept his voice low, soothing, hoping that it would be enough. “My plane got into LA this afternoon.”

“You had enough time for a fight. Or three. Didn’t you think for a second that I might want to know?”

“Buffy---.”

But she was on a roll, the dam broken.

“All those letters,” she continued. “All those words. I can’t believe I trusted them. I trusted _you_. I thought…and you said…but it was all just a big lie, wasn’t it? You just can’t help yourself---.”

She gasped when he grabbed her arm, yanking her forward, across the table, nearly into his lap. “Not lies,” Spike hissed. His eyes flashed. “Not to you. _Never_ to you. I _told_ you that.”

“You told me a lot of things.”

“I told you I loved you. Are you forgettin’ that little fact, too?”

Buffy shook her head. “It’s not you. It was all a sham. You used my feelings for William---.”

“ _Me_. You love _me_.”

“I don’t _know_ you. I…I thought I did. But---.”

She was silenced when he jerked her to her feet, pulling her flush against his body so that he could slam his lips to hers in a bruising, frustrated kiss. There was a moment when her fists came up to shove him away, but the moment they touched his chest, Buffy’s hands uncurled, flattening against his shirt as she started to kiss him back.

It wasn’t the same type of caress, however.

Her mouth begged his to soften, refusing to give in to the disquiet that punctuated his embrace, and it took only seconds before Spike yielded to her demand, his hands releasing their vigorous hold on her arms to follow new paths, one to the thick hair at her nape, the other to the small of her back to press their pelvises together.

“Missed you,” Buffy murmured against him. Her fingers tangled in his curls, her form molding to his. “So much. It was…so lonely without you.”

Hearing her say the words made reading them a phantom of a memory. Tears of relief stung Spike’s eyes, but he squeezed them tight, refusing them the opportunity to escape. “Missed you, too,” he whispered as his lips left hers to blaze a trail across her cheek. “Don’t know how I did it.”

“Don’t do it again.”

“Never.” His mouth was at her neck then, tasting and teasing the soft skin. “Never leavin’ you again.”

And then he felt it.

The softest of rhythms.

An echo that he hadn’t noticed, wouldn’t have noticed, if it weren’t for their bodies verging to join.

And he froze.

She noticed the change immediately, stiffening within the circle of his arms. “What?” Buffy asked. “What is it?”

Spike didn’t say a word. The fingers that had knotted in her hair loosened their hold to slide between their torsos. As the line deepened between her eyes, he slid his hand beneath her top, heard the sharp intake of breath as his cool skin met her heated flesh. But where she fully expected him to take his search higher, he stopped, choosing instead to press his palm to the flat of her stomach.

He hadn’t been mistaken.

He jerked back as if scalded, almost stumbling against his chair as he fought to put the distance between them again. Humiliation made him see red, and it took every fragment of his control not to throw the table over the railing into the crowd below.

“Lonely, huh?” he spat. “Did it take you all of a day before you were parting those dimpled knees for him? I’ll wager he had a real broad set of shoulders for you to cry on, too. History tells you’ve got a soft spot for the neckless type.”

His outburst shredded any remaining vestiges of understanding she might’ve had. “What the hell are you talking about?” Buffy demanded.

“It’s no wonder it took you so long to answer my letters. You were probably too busy off shagging Wonder Boy to give me a second thought.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in. When it did, Buffy’s eyes went wide.

“You think I was with someone else?” Her voice was incredulous, bordering on furious. “How dare you!”

“Don’t have to think it, pet. Know it.”

“You don’t know anything, Spike. I’m beginning to wonder if you ever did.”

“You think you can _lie_ to me about this?” His head tilted, his eyes blazing. “Buffy, this thing between us might’ve blindsided me, but it didn’t make me stupid. I _know_ , all right? There’s no point in whitewashing the truth.”

“Nobody’s washing anything, white, black, or chartreuse.”

“Who is he? Least have the courtesy to tell me that.”

“There is no ‘he!’ God, why in hell would you think I could go to _anybody_ after what happened with us in London?”

“Because,” he said through gritted teeth. His hands balled into fists at his sides. “You’re pregnant.”


	10. The Course of Altering Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXV.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: After discovering Spike killed the vigilante group attempting to take Oz, Buffy goes off in search of him, only to run into him at the Factory…

It was her anger at his outrageous accusation that slowed her response to his announcement.

“What did you say?” Buffy asked. Her head was swimming. The last thing she’d expected after the professions of his letters was to hear Spike turn on her so viciously. Every visible muscle in his body was corded taut, and she could tell that he was dying to lash out with more than just his words.

“You heard me,” he spat. “Don’t go denying it. I can feel it inside you.”

She winced when his hand shot out, grabbing her wrist and twisting her arm so that the flat of her palm was pressed against her stomach. “I don’t care what you think you can _feel_ ,” she said, though she didn’t try wrenching away from his grasp. “That’s not possible.”

“So you’re the Holy Slayer, is that it? Sorry, luv, but immaculate, you’re not.”

“Being pregnant requires having sex. And whether you want to believe me or not, I haven’t had sex since---.”

And then she stopped. Because the reality of just who it was she’d last had sex with stood right in front of her. Not in his human state, but him, nonetheless. The explanations from Richard and Willow, about how she’d been in both places at the same time, merged with the memory of the very real cut that had appeared on her thumb out of nowhere when they’d first discovered the truth.

_Is it possible?_

Then, there was the being sick lately. She’d thought it was just a stomach bug because frankly, the idea of pregnancy never even occurred to her. Though she knew that her experiences with William had been real, there was still a part of her that considered the whole thing too dream-like to accept the more visceral manifestations of their relationship, but Spike’s pronouncement made sense with the facts that she had.

Frantically, her mind raced, trying to remember when she last had her period. It had been prior to going to London, now that she thought about it. But because she was often irregular, she hadn’t given it much thought that she’d gone so long without one. It was just another of those Slayer things she’d come to accept over the years.

Spike was watching her intently, watching the connect-the-dots etch across her face, and as Buffy came to the understanding that yes, her being pregnant was very much possible and by _who_ , his grip on her slackened as he reached the same conclusion with her. Slowly, he curled his fingers beneath her palm so that they touched her bare stomach, and their eyes locked as he seemed to be listening to some unheard melody.

“We didn’t even think of the consequences,” he murmured, and in that moment, he sounded like a lost William, his eyes glistening, though that could’ve just been a trick of the strobe lighting in the club.

“No,” Buffy said tightly, stepping away and breaking the contact. “You have to be wrong.”

Spike shook his head. “Not about this. Knew something smelled different about you when you walked up, but I thought…” He stepped closer, refusing her right to be distant from him. “Is it truth? You haven’t been with someone else since…us?”

Her eyes locked with his. “Have _you_?”

It was the only answer she was going to give him, but in the aftermath of her questioning, Buffy saw the soft set of his mouth as his gaze returned to her abdomen, the way his hands twitched to touch her again.

“Never thought it would be possible,” Spike whispered. “I dreamed about it when…that night on the banks. When you said you would’ve married me if you could. But since…”

“You have to be wrong,” Buffy repeated, just as subdued. Part of her felt like crying and, irrationally, she wondered if the constant moodiness was another symptom she’d chosen to ignore. “I can’t be pregnant. I just…can’t.”

The way he looked at her was as effective as a caress. “Have you had your monthlies?”

“My what? Oh. You mean my period. No, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means everything.”

“It means I work out too much. I haven’t been regular since I got Chosen, Spike.”

“Don’t you want it?”

The question took her aback. “What?”

Those last few inches between them were devoured when he pressed her to him, and the sigh that escaped her lips when his arm curled around her waist to hold her close was almost inaudible. “Forget the vamp business,” he said softly. “Can you tell me that you wouldn’t want my---wouldn’t want _William’s_ \---child?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want, Spike. I’m the Slayer. Guaranteed death sentence, remember? I can’t be bringing a baby into this world, only to get killed before it can walk. That wouldn’t be fair.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to do so, pet. And you didn’t answer my question.”

“Your question is pointless. Because I’m not pregnant.”

She squeaked when he suddenly whirled, pulling her down the rickety catwalk and straight for the stairs. The drunk she’d passed on her arrival protested loudly when Spike shoved him out of their way, but it did nothing to curb their pace. Down the steps, into the cacophony of the club, through the strobing neon. It wasn’t until they were in the alleyway behind the building that Buffy yanked herself away from his grasp.

“What’re you doing?” she demanded.

His jacket made an ebony circle as he whirled to face her. “Goin’ to prove it to you,” he said. “You want me to trust that you haven’t been with another bloke? Then you give me the same courtesy, Buffy. I know what I felt.”

She bit back the retort. “Fine,” she replied. Her voice was tight. “But what happens when I’m right and you’re wrong?”

His teeth gleamed in the darkness as he grinned and grabbed her hand again. “Not goin’ to happen,” he said, resuming his quick pace to the street.

* * *

She made him stay out on the sidewalk when she realized what it was he had planned, though Spike insisted on giving her the cash to pay for the test. “Not goin’ to give you the ammunition to take this away from me,” he’d said through veiled lashes, and she’d whirled on her heel to disappear into the overly bright neon of the drugstore.

Every step that took her closer to the family planning aisle added a pound to her already heavy heart, so that by the time Buffy stood before the pregnancy tests, all she wanted was to go back to the beginning of the day and start over. It was easier to try and deal with the reality of Spike’s affection when it wasn’t gazing at her with William’s eyes, and it wasn’t telling her that she was now carrying his child. As hard as it had been trying to process the depth of what he conveyed in his letters, and as much as she’d missed having him to talk to, she was beginning to suspect that that was cake compared to the changes his actual appearance in Sunnydale had brought.

Well, except he hadn’t brought the pregnancy with him. If that was real, that had been there all along.

Her eyes jumped past the rows of condoms before settling on the assortment of tests that were available. Talk about the barn door being open, she mused as she reached for the nearest box. She had no idea what she was looking for. Something fast. Something reliable.

Something that would tell her she wasn’t pregnant.

After what seemed an eternity, Buffy finally settled on one that would give her a result in just a minute, though the urge to distrust something so speedy made her put it back and pick it up again more than once. Holding it close against her chest, she hurried up to the checkout, only to be stopped short when one of the last people she wanted to see rounded the corner of the aisle.

“Buffy,” Wesley said, a smile automatically coming to his mouth. “You’re looking very well.”

Blushing, she tucked the box beneath her arm and fervently prayed that he wouldn’t look too closely. “Hi,” she said, her own smile shaky. “Long time no see.”

“Yes.” He shuffled in place, his fingers fidgeting with his glasses. Regardless of the picture Willow had painted, this was very much like the Watcher she remembered. “I missed you yesterday when I arrived at Giles’. Are you going out to patrol?”

“Just getting done,” she said. “Willow asked me to pick up some…” She looked around desperately, and her free hand darted out to circle around the first thing that made sense. “…shaving cream.”

His brows drew together. “Shaving…cream?”

“For her legs. For the beach. Redheads’ hair is notoriously coarse, you know. Takes the tough ammo to, well, you know.”

“Oh. Yes. I think I’ve heard that.”

Her smile was too bright, too wide, and her eyes darted past his shoulder to the windows that overlooked the front of the store. The blackness outside meant she was looking into a mirror, and panic suddenly rose in Buffy’s throat when all she could see was her own pale face staring back at her. “I better go,” she said, inching around him to place herself between him and the cashier. “Willow’s waiting for me.”

“Of course. Will I see you tomorrow?” At her frown, he added to clarify, “When Willow comes to Giles’. We haven’t exactly started her sessions yet, so I assumed…”

“Probably. Maybe. I don’t know. It depends on what Willow wants, I think.” With an awkward wave, she turned on her heel to go, and then winced when he called out her name.

“I meant what I said,” Wesley offered when she glanced back at him. His smile was genuine. “I’ve never seen you look better, Buffy.”

She didn’t want to consider the ramifications of what he meant, rushing through the payment of her items before slipping back outside. Spike was leaning against the wall, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, but the moment he saw her emerge, tossed the glowing butt into the gutter.

“All sorted?” he asked, nodding toward the bag.

“I will be when this is over.” She took a few steps but when she rounded the corner, she stopped, swiveling to gaze up at Spike with a frown. “Where are we going to do this?”

“You don’t want to go back to your dorm?”

“Willow’s there. And I’d really rather not have to explain this tonight.”

Spike nodded. “Red’s had enough excitement, I’d wager.” He paused, his lashes lowering, and her heart clenched. It was such a characteristically William thing for him to do. This was going to take some getting used to. “Does she know?” he asked, and his voice was dark with untold emotion. “About…the letters?”

She knew it wasn’t really what he meant, but she answered the question he posed anyway. “Most of it. Kind of hard to hide the mail from her when she’s the one who goes and gets it.”

“S’pose not.” Pause. “What about your mum’s place? She hasn’t turned your room into an exercise room yet, has she?”

It wasn’t even worthy of a response. She just cocked her brows to let him know just _how_ wrong and stupid the suggestion was, and the pair lapsed back into silence.

“There’s…another possibility, Buffy. Could just…go back to my place.”

He was shuffling his feet, exhibiting more anxiety in her presence than he had since she’d first seen him at the Factory. He was _nervous_. Like William had been. It made her throat tight to consider, and damn it, she really had to stop drawing all these comparisons between him and his human self.

“You have a place already?” she asked carefully.

“Just a hotel room. Nothin’ fancy. But it’s clean, and it’s private, which is what you want, right?”

He had a point, and as wary as the prospect of being alone with him made her, Buffy knew she wouldn’t rest easy until she had an answer to the pregnancy question, once and for all. Even more importantly, it was impossible for her to deny the opportunity to spend more time with him. Though the air between them was tenuous, it rang with such a familiar tenor that denying its pull would’ve been like denying the need to breathe. A few more hours before she had to return to her regular life was all she needed.

She wasn’t even going to consider the parallel to how she’d considered her encounters with William that summer.

“All right,” she said. “Lead the way.”

* * *

When he first got the hotel room, he’d never envisioned she’d be sitting on the edge of his bed, hands twisted nervously in her lap, staring at the bathroom door like her life depended on it. Well, not _her_ life. The life of the baby she carried. The one she couldn’t quite believe existed until she had the physical proof in her hands.

But Spike knew. Spike had felt it. And if Buffy was telling the truth about not being with someone---something he realized now he’d only half-believed was even possible, even when he was ranting at her about it; she just wasn’t the type to kiss and tell---then that made it his baby. _Theirs_.

She didn’t want to talk, not until she had her answer, so Spike left her alone while they waited. Left her alone and just watched. He wasn’t too sure what he’d say to her anyway. It was tough enough suddenly being in her presence again after so long---and that _so long_ was more than the weeks they’d been separated from London, that was a century-long _so long_ that he had to find some way to bridge---but to have this news thrown into the mix as well? It was boggling.

Still…

He couldn’t get over how beautiful she looked. Though he could tell now that sleep hadn’t been as friendly as it could’ve been to her, Spike could also sense the peace she wore like a cloak to shelter her. It was a peace that he remembered from her time with William, those days at the end when they’d accepted each other and took pleasure in what time they could. She’d held onto it in his absence, refusing to revert to the broken young woman she’d been when they’d had the first dream, and Spike couldn’t help but pride himself on being responsible for helping her see that she was stronger than she gave herself credit for.

His eyes flitted to the digital clock on the nightstand. “Been more than a minute, luv,” he said quietly.

She didn’t move. “I’m making sure.”

“You want me to---.”

But she was already up before he could finish the sentence. As he knew she would be.

“Wait here.”

She disappeared into the bathroom, the door not quite latching behind her, and Spike inched over so that he could spy her through the narrow opening she’d left him. He could just see her standing at the sink, the white stick in one hand, the paper instructions in the other, as her gaze darted from one to the next. Then, she froze, and he couldn’t even hear her breathing any more. The silence was murder.

“Well?” he called out. He couldn’t stand it. “Ready to eat that crow yet?”

Maybe mentioning something to eat was the wrong thing to say because she was suddenly hunched over the toilet, the heaving sounds echoing inside the tiled room. In a flash, Spike was there beside her, pulling her hair back from getting entangled and sickening her even more, and he dropped his hand to the small of Buffy’s back to rub it soothingly.

“Water,” she gasped after the vomiting had stopped. She stuck out her hand and waited, not meeting his eyes when he stood and filled a cup at the sink, then gulped in a large mouthful before spitting it out again into the toilet bowl.

“Need anything else?” Spike asked gently.

“I don’t suppose you have a toothbrush?”

He was off and back before she could sit on her heels, handing her his black leather toiletry bag and saying, “Just help yourself, pet. If you fancy a shower---.”

“It’s real.” She was staring at the case she held, her eyes lost. “You were right. I can’t believe you were right.”

“Thought you’d sussed out that that happens more often than naught.” Spike crouched to sit down beside her. “One of these days, you’re goin’ to have to actually start listening to me.”

“What am I going to do?”

When she looked up at him, it struck Spike that he’d never considered she would question it, and the thought that this could get so cruelly ripped away from him made him stiffen, the sudden urge to take Buffy and just cage her up until the baby was born rising in his gullet. “Well, you’re not gettin’ rid of it,” he announced, and realized that his voice was just a little too loud for the small space.

It also served to jar Buffy from her complacency into anger. “I can’t keep it,” she announced. “I’m eighteen. I’m the Slayer. I’m in college. I can’t have a baby. My mom’ll _kill_ me. _Giles_ will kill me.”

“And _you_ can just kill an innocent baby?”

It was a low blow, but it did what he wanted it to.

Buffy blanched. “No,” she whispered. Her eyes were suddenly venomous. “Bastard. This is all your fault.”

“Oh, because William knew _exactly_ what he was doin’. Right, luv. In that little arrangement, _you_ were the voice of experience. You want to lay blame, start lookin’ in the mirror, and just remember which it is of us who has the reflection.”

“But I didn’t know!”

“And neither did I, so don’t be turnin’ this around on me just because it’s tossed you about a bit!”

They glared at each other, but Buffy’s indignation lasted for only seconds before she crumpled before his eyes. Her shoulders fell, the toiletry bag tumbling from her fingers as she seemed to fold into herself, and then she was squeezing her eyes shut as if to block out images that only she could see.

Silently, Spike scooped her into his arms, ready to fight her if she tried to break free. Instead, her cheek turned into his chest, and it muffled her words when she spoke.

“How am I supposed to do this?” Buffy asked.

“It’s not like you’re alone,” he replied. “Got your friends, your mum. Even got Rupert. They’d do just about anything for you. Havin’ a baby isn’t goin’ to change that.”

“And you?”

He hesitated, and then decided to hell with it. “Even if I hadn’t already promised to be here for you,” Spike said, “I don’t walk out on my own. This is mine just as much as it’s yours. I’ll do whatever it takes.” He paused. “Except for the dirty nappies. You can have those. Your nose isn’t as sensitive as mine is.”

She laughed for the first time since they’d encountered at the Factory, and though it was just a small, tinny sound, it warmed Spike in memories of long talks in a sunlit park, longer nights back in his London bed. It was a start. It was a worthy start.

Buffy pulled away from his embrace to look up at him. Her eyes were solemn, but at least they were dry. Even a huge change such as this wasn’t enough to break his girl.

“William would’ve loved this idea,” she said. “He probably would’ve wanted a dozen.”

“William’s just pleased as punch about this one,” Spike replied.

“Why?”

It was barely a whisper.

“Because I’m evil and shouldn’t be fussed about them, right?” But he said it teasingly, hoping against hope that it wouldn’t provoke another fight. “You and I both know the truth of that, don’t we, pet? Done my fair share, but that’s behind me now. And, at the end of the day, there’s not a whole lot in this world I can call my own. Had Dru for a bit, but that was just a bit of ephemeron, as it turns out.” He stopped when she suddenly compressed her lips, stifling a giggle. “What?”

“I can’t decide if that effa-whatever thingamabob is a William word or a Giles word,” she said.

“It’s a perfectly _good_ word, is what it is,” he retorted.

“And it _does_ prove that your vocabulary goes beyond ‘bloody’ when you want it to, so bonus points there.”

His mouth opened to snipe back at her about little girls who’d best keep their mouths shut if they ever wanted another poem written for them again when he realized she was teasing him.

Buffy. Was teasing. _Him_.

Not William.

She was aiming it straight and true at Spike, and it was amusement with him that was now lighting her face.

Well, that was just… _neat._

“Got more of those, you know,” he said with a sly smile. “Not all of them went into your letters.”

When her eyes widened with excitement at the mention of more poetry, it was all Spike could do not to visibly preen. Not only had he managed to divert her attention away from the distractions of the night---the pregnancy, his screw-up in not going to her first, her discovery of his killing---but he’d gained definitive reassurance that his verse still did something for her. Writing had been well and good while he was away, but he’d been creating in a vacuum. He’d forgotten how wonderful it had felt sharing his work with Buffy, how exuberant she got over his many attempts.

Grabbing the toiletry bag from the floor, Spike rose to his feet, pulling Buffy along with him. “Let’s sort you out,” he said. “Clean up, shower, do whatever you want. Have you eaten?” When she shook her head, he nodded as if he hadn’t expected any different. “I’ll run across the way and get you something to nosh then.” Before he could stop himself, Spike leaned in and pressed a hard, quick kiss to Buffy’s mouth. “Got a bit for us to catch up on, don’t we, pet?” he murmured. “Not just a few poems.”

“Are you…I still don’t know why you’ve been gone for so long.”

“I know.” His fingers played with the curled end of her hair. “If you’ll stay, I can tell you. Are you?”

“Staying?”

When her eyes drifted past Spike’s shoulder to the bedroom behind him, alarm began to replace the elation that had fueled his mood. He watched her face intently, ready to begin arguing with her again should she start to run, but kept his grip on her lax.

“I guess…I guess we _do_ have a lot to talk about, huh?”

He wanted to shout out in bloody joy, but settled for a half-smile. “Fifty-three days worth, luv,” he said.

She nodded, glancing at the shower. “Maybe…I’ll just clean up a little,” Buffy said.

He could tell a request for privacy when he heard one. Any other time, and he might be inclined to debate the issue with her. Now, Spike was just glad she was sticking around. With a quick step backward, he said, “Burger and chips all right? Unless you want something else---.”

“A burger’s fine. And, Spike?” She turned away from him and busied herself with the shower, as if meeting his eyes while she said the next would make it impossible to do. “I’m glad you’re back.”

* * *

It was Riley’s failure to report in for his first update on the werewolf situation that prompted Maggie to send out the back-up team. The last thing she expected to hear, however, was that Riley and his entire squad had been killed while on the watch. And not by the werewolf, as might be expected.

The puncture wounds on Forrest were enough proof to indicate at least one vampire was involved in the attack.

There was evidence that suggested others had been present, but until she could analyze some of the scans Riley’s team had taken of the area, Maggie wouldn’t know what or how many were involved. What didn’t make sense to her was that none of the men were drained. The bite on Forrest had merely killed him; the lividity in his body testified that there was still plenty of blood left in his system post-mortem.

So, if it wasn’t for food, why was her team so effectively ambushed? They had been armed with the best weaponry currently available. The team contained two of the best soldiers she’d ever seen. Yet, all of them were now dead.

Worse, the werewolf still ran free, not that that had been anything more than a diversionary tactic in the first place.

And most importantly, she’d lost one of her greatest assets in searching for the artifacts on the Hellmouth.

Without Riley, Maggie no longer had a reasonable way of maintaining contact with the Slayer. Under her instruction, he had slowly been insinuating his way into her circle of acquaintances. Already, he was on a friendly basis with Willow Rosenberg, and his last report had stated that he was well on the path to gaining a date with Buffy Summers. He’d been reluctant for the subterfuge at the beginning, but once Maggie had explained the significance of what they were trying to accomplish, and how unorthodox and unpredictable the Slayer had been in the past, he’d agreed that perhaps the deception was necessary in order to gain her trust.

All of that was now moot, though. Riley was dead. Beyond the realm of the classroom, Maggie’s contact with the Slayer was now severed.

The information that the Initiative had already collected indicated that the Slayer was a necessary component to retrieving the artifacts, though what the specifics of that were, they still had no concept. Even though their searches had yet to unearth anything, Maggie could not allow such a trivial detail as this young woman derail all her hard work.

It was time to call in her back-up for Riley.

He would not be happy about it, but his hunger for the decimation of all HST’s exceeded anyone else’s Maggie had ever known. If she explained to him that this was the only way to retrieve the power they needed to further their offensive, he would fall into line.

He had to.

She refused to fail.


	11. Quenched in a Cool Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CLIV.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy has confirmed via a test that her pregnancy is real, and then agreed to stick around Spike’s hotel a little longer so that they can talk…

The steaming water traced illicit paths down the tiled walls, patterns mirrored on Buffy’s skin, and she stared at the designs it made as her hand rubbed absently at her stomach.

Pregnant.

She was pregnant.

With Spike’s baby.

She squeezed her eyes shut, tilting her head back into the spray to feel it pelt into her scalp.

Not Spike’s. _William’s._

That was how she had to think of it. That was the only way she was going to be able to deal with this; it was the only way she was going to be able to sell keeping it to Giles and her mom.

Even if the line between William and Spike was so blurry now as to be almost nonexistent.

He’d terrified her when he’d bluntly asked her if she could kill the baby. Thoughts of terminating the pregnancy had been floating around before that, but the images his question raised had sickened Buffy to the point where the issue was moot. She couldn’t. He knew she couldn’t. She realized he was just making sure _she_ knew that, too.

But keeping the baby carried with it a whole bunch of new problems that made introducing Spike to her life in Sunnydale seem as easy as sneaking out of the house in the middle of the night. A caustic laugh was torn from her throat. If she’d thought telling Xander about Spike was going to be hard, just wait until he heard that she was also pregnant with his baby. There was a very good likelihood that Xander’s head was going to explode from the news.

Willow would be supportive. She understood. She’d seen firsthand just how deeply William had affected her, had seen how Spike had been after he’d regained his memories. She would stand by Buffy no matter what she decided.

But then, there were Giles and her mom.

She was fairly certain the two adjectives to describe their reactions would be “disappointed” and “homicidal.”

And yet…Spike was right. Part of her _wanted_ this baby. Wanted this piece of William, both to have the proof that it had happened and to be able to give back just a little bit to the poet who had helped her heal. Even besides that, there was the distinct possibility that this might be the only shot Buffy got at having one. She hadn’t been kidding about the limited lifespan, and to be honest, having Spike around to constantly remind her of William, Buffy wasn’t too sure how likely it would be she’d be having another serious relationship any time soon.

Unbidden, her gaze strayed downward, settling on the hand that hadn’t left the flat of her stomach since she’d stepped under the showerhead. How long before she would start showing? Maybe it wouldn’t be necessary to tell anyone right away. Maybe she had time to figure out how she could break the news. After all, it wasn’t going to hurt the baby’s feelings if her friends didn’t know about its existence the second she did. If she waited, she could always pretend that she had only just found out.

But Spike would know.

Spike would tell.

_Maybe if I asked him not to._

She didn’t know if that would be enough.

 _William wouldn’t---_.

Her eyes stung with sudden tears, and Buffy turned around in the spray to feel the water scoring into her skin before she lost control. William wasn’t here. It didn’t matter what he would or wouldn’t do. It was pointless to speculate because William wasn’t around to say yea or nay.

Except he was, in a way.

The unexpected cry choked in her throat, and she bent her head as the sobs shook her slim frame. God, she was so confused. Seeing Spike had brought it all rushing back, even more so than noting how he was signing off on his letters or how he was using his poetry to try and ease his way into her life. She looked at Spike, and she saw William, and she wasn’t so sure that they were really all that different any more.

And she wasn’t so sure she wanted to think they were.

“Buffy?”

She jerked at the sound of his voice, whirling instinctively in its direction. Through the semi-transparent shower curtain, she saw Spike’s blurry outline in the doorway, and deliberately straightened her shoulders.

“There’s such a thing as knocking, you know.” Her voice’s composure took her by surprise, and she took what strength it offered and held it close. “What do you want?”

There was a pause, and she watched as he took a step further into the room, his features coming into sharper focus through the plastic as he did so. “Heard you crying. You all right?”

Damn it. She was going to have to remember the vampire hearing when she was around Spike now. No letting her guard down for a minute.

“I’m fine,” she replied. “I just…everything just hit me all of a sudden. But I’m fine now. Really.”

That sounded plausible, even to her ears. Pregnant women were notorious for being moody, right? Surely it would be enough to convince Spike to leave her alone, even if he did sound like he was worried about her.

But he didn’t move. Backwards, that is. Instead, he closed the bathroom door, and hopped up onto the counter, looking very much like he was settling in while she showered.

“What’re you doing?” Buffy demanded, poking her head out around the curtain. “Kinda naked here, in case you didn’t notice.”

“I noticed.” His head tilted as he tried to see past the hem of the plastic, sending a rush of heat to a place on Buffy’s body that it was impossible to blame on the hot shower, but all too quickly his eyes were back on her face. “Just thought you might feel like starting our little talk now, is all.”

“I thought you were going to get me some food.”

“It’s got.”

“Oh.” It was too hard to keep up the act with him staring at her, so Buffy ducked back under the water, averting her eyes back to the rivulets running down the tiles. “I’ll be out in a minute then. Let me just…rinse off.”

Continuing the forced nonchalance, she reached for the washcloth and wiped it over her face. When she lowered it, however, a quick glance out of the corner of her eye revealed Spike still sitting on the counter, watching her just as closely as he had when he’d first entered.

“You’re still here.”

“You were crying.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Liar.”

Buffy exhaled, trying to stem the urge to let the tears flow again. If this was any indication of what her emotional state was going to be like for the next nine months, maybe she needed to reconsider keeping the baby. She didn’t know if she was strong enough to deal with all of this.

“You are, you know.”

His voice was low, muffled by the curtain and the wash of water over her ears. But the certainty with which he spoke made Buffy’s flesh ripple in goosebumps. Spike could still do the mindreading thing when it came to her, it would appear. It had always been freaky the way he could figure out what she was thinking, sometimes before she even did.

Her eyes widened. Was that a remnant of William that had remained after his memory had been taken away? She hadn’t considered that before, but then again, it had been months since she’d been face to face with this side of him.

Spike was still talking.

“Know your vision’s a bit tunneled with the news and all, but that’s just because it’s fresh. There’s not one thing in your life you haven’t beaten, pet. It’s just a matter of gettin’ some perspective.”

“Please tell me you didn’t come to Sunnydale to be my own personal Tony Robbins, because I’m fairly sure that falls well within the death-worthy specs we agreed on.”

“You _know_ why I’m here.”

“Yeah, apparently to thin out the rest of the demon-hunting crowd.”

She silently winced as the barb slipped automatically from her tongue. She knew very well that he’d probably only killed Riley and the others to protect Oz and Willow---and a small matter of self-defense, according to Oz---but that didn’t negate the fact that they were still human and he was still a vampire. If she just sat back and accepted that without question, how could anyone take her seriously as the Slayer? How could she respect _herself_?

“All right,” Spike said slowly. She could tell he was pissed, but he was doing his best not to lose it. “Not exactly the topic I would’ve chosen to lead with, but if that’s what you want to talk about, so be it. Fire away, Buffy.”

“Did you feed from them?” The question came out before she could stop it. It was the first suspicion that had haunted her, and it was the potential answer that filled her with the most dread. She hadn’t bothered to inspect the bodies, but she suspected that was at least partially due to being scared of what she was going to find.

“No. And to head off the second part of that, no, I didn’t feed while I was gone, either.”

“You…didn’t?”

“Won’t lie and say I didn’t want to or that it wasn’t a ball-buster to stick to a bagged diet, but yeah, I didn’t. Made you that promise, didn’t I? How many times am I goin’ to have to make it clear that I don’t go back on my word before you start believing me?”

She risked stealing a glance through the curtain but only saw the fuzzy white of his bowed head. The realization that he was hurt she wasn’t trusting him made her guilt return with a fiery vengeance.

“I’m trying,” she said, and wondered if her voice was so low that he wouldn’t understand her. “Do you know how hard this is for me? What you want, it’s not going to happen overnight, Spike. This isn’t just about me. This is about my friends, and my family, and---.”

“Our baby.”

That word. _Our_. Like they were a couple. He used it so freely, like he believed in it. Did Buffy? _Could_ Buffy? It was taking all she had to wrap her brain around the pregnancy, and here he was, taking it all in stride, as if his whole world hadn’t just turned upside down with the announcement.

She wasn’t ready to talk about that just yet with him. Better to go back and talk about the other.

“Why did you do it? Kill them, I mean.”

“Heard the lot talkin’ how they were goin’ to take Red’s wolfboy in. I couldn’t very well let that happen, now could I?”

“You didn’t have to kill them. You could’ve just incapacitated them.”

“I was outnumbered four to one, luv.” He sounded exasperated, like he was having to explain to a child. “That’s not usually bad odds for me, but these blokes were armed to the gills. It was me or them. I picked me.”

That was what Oz had said. Was it an attitude she could really blame?

“And I only killed that last one because he pulled a blade on me,” Spike was saying. “Red and the other---.”

“Oz.”

“---seemed to know who he was. So, if you want to get your knickers in a twist ‘bout this, be my guest, but don’t be tellin’ me you wouldn’t have done the exact same thing. I’ve seen you with your friends. You’re like a mother lion when it comes to protecting them, even if they don’t need it.”

“The difference is, you got off on killing them, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah. Still a vampire, last time I checked.”

She sighed. He was going to have an answer to all of her arguments, and worse, more than half of them were likely to be good ones. This wasn’t a battle she was going to win tonight, if ever.

“If you’re not goin’ to wash, why don’t you get out, pet? This convo will be a bit more comfortable in the other room, I’d reckon.”

His words sparked her to start scrubbing at her skin again. “I’m washing! See? This is me being Miss Clean.”

“I think you’re stalling. If you didn’t want to face me, why the hell did you stay?”

Good question. _Because I didn’t really want to go._ _Because I missed you._

“Because we have things to talk about.”

She was a coward to the nth degree.

She heard Spike sigh in disgust, hopping down from his perch on the counter and start pacing in the tiny space. “This isn’t talkin’, Buffy,” he said. “This is you and me, goin’ around in circles. I’m not interested in circles any more. Been around this rock more times than you can imagine, and I’d finally thought I was comin’ home. To you. And now here I am, and all I can bloody think about is---.”

He cut himself off, and Buffy held her breath while she waited for him to finish what he was going to say. She was about to prompt him to continue when she heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled down.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice panicked.

“You’re obviously not comin’ out,” he said. “So I guess I’m comin’ in.”

“No!” Her fingers scrabbled for the faucets, trying to turn off the water. “I’m coming out! Stay there! And for god’s sake, keep your pants on!”

From the far end of the tub, a cool rush of air tickled Buffy’s bare bottom, and she whirled to see Spike stepping into the shower. Her arms lifted to automatically cover her breasts, but the rest of her froze as her eyes fell over his pale form.

Time had been good to Spike. Very good. It was as if someone had taken William and carved away the rest of the softness of his muscles, sculpting powerful arms, lean thighs, that taut stomach. There was one part of him, however, that was completely the same, and Buffy jerked her eyes away from his semi-erect cock to stare at him in stunned disbelief.

He wasn’t being nearly as discreet as she had been in looking her over. As she watched, his head tilted, his gaze insinuating across her hidden breasts, lingering on the flat of her abdomen before devouring the length of her legs. By the time his eyes returned to hers, the blue of Spike’s irises had been swallowed by the pupils, and there was no mistaking the tension now tightening his jaw.

“Do you ever dream about the last time we were like this?” he murmured. He reached forward to stroke the golden curve of her shoulder. “It’s not exactly the same, but…God, you’re just so beautiful.”

Keeping him at a distance was much easier when he’d been safely on the other side of the shower curtain, not to mention clothed. Now, Buffy was having a hard time remembering why she’d been so determined not to tell him what had been bothering her.

“This isn’t talking,” she said. “This is touching.”

His hand dropped, and he leaned against the wall. “Right,” he said. “So I s’pose I’m goin’ to go first in our little tete-a-tete here.”

“You don’t---.”

“I was lookin’ for Rose.”

The blunt admission shocked her into silence, and Buffy immediately forgot that she was standing naked in front of him. “Why?” she finally managed.

Spike shrugged. “Thought she could give me something to bring back for you. I always thought there was more to her bein’ around Richard and bein’ so protective of you than she let on. I guess…I thought I could convince her to tell me what it was she was hiding. Maybe let me in on something that might help you out.”

“Did you…did you find her?”

His hesitation spoke volumes. “She was in Barcelona. Turns out we were too late, though. Someone else got to her before we did. Don’t think she even saw it coming.”

He was using the same “we” that he’d been using in his letters. “You weren’t alone.”

“No.” He paused, though his gaze never left hers. “Asked that Watcher bird to help me find her.”

It took a second for it to register just who it was he referring to, but when it did, Buffy’s jaw dropped. “You were with _Lydia_?”

“It was just a business arrangement---.”

“She’s _obsessed_ with you!”

“Well, yeah, I’d say she fancies me a bit---.”

“A bit is the understatement of the century. I can’t _believe_ you were with Lydia! Did you know she was ready to sell out the Council just to get a little more information from me about you? She’s not exactly someone you can trust, Spike.”

“She had resources I needed. _And_ , she was the reason I found Rose in the first place. And…are you _jealous_ , luv?”

“What? No! I mean, there’s no reason for me to be jealous. It’s just…” Buffy’s voice faded. No wonder Spike had never mentioned it before now. Her stomach flipflopped at the prospect of his involvement with the Watcher. Had he? Of course, he had. He’d been alone with her for weeks, and Lydia was completely in love with him. What guy wouldn’t take advantage of that?

“It was just a business arrangement, Buffy.” His voice was soft, coaxing her to look at him again. “Nothin’ happened between us. She’s not you.”

The last drove her head back up, and she chastised herself for the burning in her eyes. I’m not going to cry in front of him, she said. I’m being stupid. There’s nothing for me to be jealous about because there’s nothing going on between me and Spike.

_Which, of course, is why I’m standing naked in a shower with him._

Damn it.

Taking a small step toward her, Spike lifted a hand to cup her face, his thumb brushing away some of the moisture that clung to her cheek. “Know we’ve got a fair bit to learn yet ‘bout what’s been goin’ on,” he said, “but there’s some things that haven’t changed. I still love you. As soon as I realized I wasn’t goin’ to get what I wanted with Rose, I was on a plane to California so I could be with you again. I didn’t even bother to wait for Lydia at the airport. For all I know, she’s still in LA, tryin’ to suss out what exactly happened to me.”

She couldn’t help the quirk of her lips. “You ditched Lydia?”

“Bloody right I did. She probably would’ve tried detouring us through the Grand Canyon on our way here, and I didn’t need anything that was goin’ to keep me from my promise any more than I already had.”

Her stomach turned again, but this time it wasn’t because of her roiling emotions. It was because of the gentle way he was sliding his hand through her wet hair, letting his fingers comb through the long locks, watching them drop and cling to her damp skin with a barely disguised hunger to take their place.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” she said.

His palm ghosted over the swell of her breast, not touching but shaping the sultry air around it as if he was molding it to Buffy’s form. “Did you really miss me?” Spike asked.

“Yes.” It was pointless to deny it. “Nobody else…” She swallowed. “Nobody else understands me like you do. I missed…my friend.”

His hand floated over her stomach now, and after a moment of hesitation, he pressed it flat to her, closing his eyes. She knew he was listening to the baby; she only wished she could hear what he was hearing.

“You’re the only one who ever thought I was worth anything.” There was a catch to his voice, thicker than the one that had been there when he’d posed his previous question. “Outside of my mum, you’re the only one who ever gave me a chance.”

“What about---?”

But he stopped her before she could say the name.

“I was just a distraction for Dru,” Spike said. “Someone to keep an eye on her when Angelus and Darla couldn’t be bothered. Took decades for me to get her to myself.”

“But…she loved you.”

“Yeah. But apparently, not enough.” He looked up then, his hand still over her stomach. “Not like you do.”

Though he used the present tense, and though her mouth opened to contradict the truthfulness of his statement, Buffy found that she couldn’t, not while he was looking at her with such undisguised need. Not while those were William’s eyes begging her not to spurn him like the others.

Not while he was right.

“It’s not going to be easy,” she said instead.

“Good things never are.”

“I’m serious. People are going to wig when they hear you’re back in town. And this thing with the baby? I’d seriously start thinking about buying a crash helmet of some kind because I’ve got a feeling my mom is going to be dragging out her axe again when she finds out. And then there’s---.”

“Doesn’t matter. I’m here now. I’m not goin’ anywhere. People are just goin’ to have to either come to terms with that or bugger off.”

He said it so matter-of-factly, like it was an unalterable truth along the lines of the earth being round or pashminas being so last year. Then she realized…he believed it.

And all her fears washed away.

“I was crying because I was so glad you were back,” she confessed. “And it scared me.”

Gently, Spike let his hand slip from her stomach, around her hip to the small of her back, and he tugged her flush against him. “Know how much you hate that,” he murmured.

His eyes were fixed on her mouth, and his cock was thickening against her stomach. Slowly, Buffy lifted her fingers to his face, outlining his cheekbones with the fragile grace of someone who was afraid to forget, tracing the scar in his eyebrow with growing curiosity, sketching the slope of his nose. Though their bodies barely touched, she could already feel the bonds entangling them further, and knew that they’d been doing so ever since that first night she’d drunk Willow’s tea and met a shy young poet desperate for love. If she struggled against them, she would end up strangled. The only hope she had to survive was to concede to their strength.

“We got back to touching again,” she said softly. When he stiffened slightly against her, muscles tense to pull away, Buffy slipped her arm around his neck to stop the motion. “Maybe it’s time we did that instead of talk.”

Slowly, she saw the rush of delight come to Spike’s eyes, but he soon dropped his gaze again to her mouth, lowering his head at the same until their lips brushed against each other. The insistent water pelting onto her back was forgotten as Buffy dissolved against him, shedding the ghosts of everything in the outside world to focus on this man and this time.

A growl escaped Spike’s throat as he buried his mouth in her neck, sucking and biting at the tender flesh it found while his hands explored the canvas of the rest of her body. “Too long,” he murmured. “Been dreamin’ about you, Buffy. Been in my head, in my gut. Felt you under my hands every night, but it wasn’t like this.”

Unseen, she couldn’t help but smile as her eyes fluttered shut. Some things were definitely different, but one thing had remained the same; he still loved to talk while making love to her. Would he start spouting poetry, too?

She almost hoped yes.

His endearments continued as he held her close, mouth cool against her hot, slippery skin, tattooing its path along her shoulders, across her collarbone, down between her breasts. He dropped to his knees, hands falling to steady her hips, and Buffy held her breath while she waited to feel what path his tongue was going to take.

Below the swell of her right breast.

Along her ribs.

Then, stopping on her stomach.

The seconds stretched into one minute, and then two, as she felt his mouth along her abdomen. “Bloody miracle,” he kept saying. “You have any idea how beautiful you’re goin’ to be? Not goin’ to let anyone else touch you, either. Mine, you are. Hard and sweet, and don’t you ever forget that. Know you want to, know it’s hard, luv, but this, this is just proof that we’ve both been given another chance, right? Bloody miracle.”

She wondered if he was even aware of what he was saying. When she looked down at the tousled curls, all she could see were his dark lashes against his pale skin, his lips constantly moving against her, kissing and licking and whispering his words like he’d been storing them up and was grateful for the release of the dam that had held them in. “Spike,” she said quietly, but her voice was drowned out by the noise of the water hitting the white tiles.

“Spike,” she said louder, and this time, he looked up, his mouth red and wet and glistening. Wordlessly, she tugged him back to his feet and turned so that her back was to the wall. With her arms around his shoulders, she lifted herself until her legs were wrapped around his waist, the tip of his hard cock pressing into her inner thigh.

“Are you sure?” he asked, and the softening of his accent revealed for Buffy more than his actual question.

Her reply was to slide her hips down, letting his thick shaft penetrate inch by inch into her soaking slit. Spike groaned as her muscles stretched and squeezed around him, his head dropping so that their brows rested on each other, and dug his fingers into her hips, silently imploring her not to stop, not to pull away, not to leave him. When he was completely buried inside, she held him there, allowing her to get adjusted to his girth, allowing him to get used to her heat, and let her lips caress the contour of his cheek.

She knew this was reckless of her. She knew that yielding to her desire for him, conceding to her love for the man he’d been, was not something she could’ve done in the light of day, or in familiar surroundings, or anywhere, anywhen that wasn’t here and now. Unlocking her heart so carelessly was like inviting a strange vamp into her dorm room, and yet, this wasn’t a stranger.

Deep down, she knew Spike. She may only be aware of slivers of his demon existence, but beneath it all, Buffy knew the man he’d been, and could see it even now.

Maybe not so reckless after all.

His lips were a waterfall touch along her neck as he began pumping in and out of her, sensations so familiar that they made Buffy want to weep. The hot shower masked the true temperature of his body, and with her eyes shut, she could almost imagine herself in the tub with William, remember the ravenous appetite he’d exhibited as he’d fucked her against the ceramic.

And then Spike spoke.

“Look at me, luv.”

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, and saw him gazing down at her. His lids were heavy, his eyes black, but the craving for her within their depths was unmistakable.

“This is me,” he said softly, and released his deathgrip on her left hip to push back a piece of hair that had glued to her cheek. “I know…I know you wish it wasn’t, but I’d rather…” His pelvis stilled, his cock still buried inside her. “…if you don’t want to be here, with me, right now, I’d rather we stop this before you can regret it. I can’t…I don’t want…”

She silenced him with a kiss. “I know,” she whispered when she broke away. She began riding his length again, slow and sweet as their gazes locked. “I _know_.”

She didn’t know how long they lasted like that. Longer than she’d ever gone with William. Minutes. An hour. Forever. It didn’t matter.

When Spike finally came, he held her so tightly against him that for a few seconds, Buffy felt like she couldn’t breathe. The jerking of his cock as he shot deep inside her pulsed against her clit, making her come for the third time since they’d begun their dance, and she cried out his name as her nails dug into his back. The wonder when he turned his head to her was quickly followed by his lips on hers, and he kissed her more thoroughly than he had since their encounter at the Factory.

“I knew touching would be better than talking,” she said as she slid off his body.

Spike’s arms came around her to help guide the washcloth she’d grabbed to clean off. “Does this mean you’re takin’ off now?”

“I should.” But it was a reluctant reply. “I’m sure Oz has told Willow about you being back, and she’s probably worried. I shouldn’t make her night worse for her than it already has been.”

“’Course.” He rubbed the washcloth over her stomach, every once in awhile dipping to her wet curls but mostly concentrating on the flat of her abdomen. “Nothin’ says you can’t just lie down for a bit before you go, though, does it?”

The prospect of lying in his arms, of hearing his voice in her ear again, was suddenly too irresistible to deny. “Just a little bit,” Buffy said, keeping her voice as neutral as possible. “But then I really have to go.”

Spike pressed his mouth to the curve of her neck. “Of course,” he murmured.

* * *

With a heavy sigh, Giles closed the book he was reading and tossed his glasses onto the desk. He couldn’t concentrate. Misgivings about his decision to allow Esme to meet with Willow the following day were plaguing his every thought, and it was impossible to focus on the text Wesley had brought from the coven in England. He had dropped the pair off at the hotel they were staying at with barely two words to the witch and instructions to Wesley to pick up some items for the following day, hoping that he would be able to return to his flat and resume some of his reading without worry. He couldn’t. His conscience was betraying him.

It was Willow’s decision, of course. However, after the incidents in London, Giles feared the worst. Esme had been primarily benevolent in her dealings with Willow, but that was because she didn’t have her powers. She still didn’t have her powers, a small voice inside his head reminded him. But that didn’t negate how rabid Esme had been when it came to April and to Slayers in general. If Buffy discovered the truth about Esme’s presence, Giles wasn’t sure how she would respond. Esme was responsible for much, if not all, of the troubles in England.

Of course, she was also responsible for introducing Buffy to William, and inadvertently bringing Spike back into her life. It was likely that might soften the antagonism.

The thought made Giles weary.

He was still mulling over the repercussions of Esme’s presence in Sunnydale when a soft knock came at his flat door. Rising from his seat, he glanced at his watch as he went to answer it. Quarter to twelve. It was likely Buffy checking in from patrol.

It was a blonde on the other side of the door, but not the one he expected.

“Lydia,” he said. His gaze swept over her disheveled form, before glancing over her shoulder to see if she was alone. “What are you doing here?”

“Didn’t you get my message? I left you one when I was in Barcelona about our return to the States.”

“Yes, but…” Crossing his threshold, Giles frowned as he noted the empty courtyard. “You’re alone. Where’s Spike? Did you leave him at a hotel?”

His direct queries prompted her to duck her eyes, and her hand came up to brush nervously at her hair. “Yes, well, about that---.”

“This better not be bad news, Lydia.”

She took a deep breath. “I lost Spike in Los Angeles.”

“You what?” His voice echoed in the midnight air, and Giles grew immediately aware of the late hour. Stepping back inside his flat, he held the door open wider. “Get in here.”

He waited until she was sitting on the edge of his couch, her hands knotted tightly together in her lap, before speaking again. “What happened?” he asked. His nails were digging into his palms in his efforts not to lose his temper.

Quickly, she told the story, only occasionally meeting his eyes during the tale. By the time she was done, Giles felt as if his head was going to implode.

“I asked you to do _one_ thing,” he said. “Monitor Spike’s movements.”

“Technically, you asked for two as I had to let you know where we were---.”

“Is it _so_ difficult to lose a bleached English vampire in the middle of the day in one of the sunniest places in the world?” He began to pace, no longer able to contain the frenetic energy coursing through his veins. “And if your sources are correct, he’s likely already on his way here. How on earth am I going to intercept his first meeting with Buffy if I don’t even know when he’s going to arrive?”

“I tried---.”

“You didn’t try hard enough.”

She jerked her chin at that, eyes suddenly cold. “I did everything you ever asked of me, Rupert, and not once did I balk, even when I thought you were being a controlling, manipulative bastard. You wanted to know the contents of William’s letters? I broke his confidence and steamed them open so that you could have copies. You wanted me to slow down his arrival in Sunnydale? I planted false leads for him to follow that would delay our coming. Don’t tell me I didn’t try hard enough. I did _more_ than enough.”

“And yet you still managed to lose sight of him before you reached Sunnydale. Funny, that.”

“I came here to tell you, didn’t I? I haven’t even checked into my hotel yet. My bags are still outside in the rental car.”

“Then I must thank you for making me your top priority.” The sarcasm pulled at his nerves, his frustration driving him to sink into the chair opposite her. “He’s going to go straight to Buffy. I’m going to have to warn her.”

“And tell her what? If you say one word, she’s going to know of your involvement. I thought that’s why you asked me to keep an eye on him, so that you could keep your hands clean of the matter.”

She had a point. Rubbing at his eyes, Giles felt his exhaustion begin to return, the shot of adrenaline her news had brought to his system already waning.

“I thought you agreed with me about William.” Lydia was still talking. “I thought we agreed that it seemed his intent was honorable.”

Of course, she would bring that up. When it came to romanticizing Spike, Lydia was the worst.

“I said, it would appear that he had residual feelings for Buffy,” Giles said.

“You also told me you rather liked William when you met him.”

The woman had the memory of an elephant.

“That’s not the point---.”

It was her turn to interrupt him. “I think it is, Rupert. You had no problems with William coming to Sunnydale. You were just concerned about the time frame. Deny it all you wish, but you were just as swayed as I was by the passion in his letters. Can you sit there and tell me that you truly believe he’s a threat to her any longer?”

Arguing with her was pointless. They’d had many conversations regarding the contents of Spike’s letters to Buffy. Lydia was well aware that Giles would never have given her his Slayer’s dorm address if he didn’t think that she was safe from the vampire. He would be a hypocrite to say otherwise.

“Still,” he said, “I’m going to have to bring it up to Buffy in some fashion. She’s not been entirely well lately and since she’s not been in contact with Spike---.”

“Yes, she has.” At his confused frown, she added, “William received a note from her just before we left Barcelona. She said…that she missed him.”

Well. That certainly answered some of his questions. Like why Spike had given up on his search for Rose. Like why he’d been so quick to lose Lydia once he’d finished his use of her. Telling Spike she missed him was as good as begging him to come back to her.

Suddenly, he felt completely drained. Between this and Esme’s arrival, it would seem that his life had just taken a much more dramatic turn, and not necessarily for the better.

“Would you care for a drink?” he asked, rising again to his feet. “Frankly, I need one right about now, and after hearing what I’ve had to endure the last twenty-four hours, I think you might, too.”

* * *

Her body was screaming.

Fire ripped through her back as she clung to the side of the cavern wall. Grit was ground beneath her short fingernails, and she’d scraped the inside of her knee when she’d rappelled over the edge into the chasm, but Havi was doing her best to ignore the discomfort. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t experienced before. It was just in a different locale.

Sweat dripped into her eyes, forcing her to blink rapidly to clear her vision. A quick glance down showed the bottom only a few more yards away. Jumpable. She’d done worse. Still, her body was tired from the flight from Barcelona. She didn’t want to risk pushing herself too hard. It was going to be a long night as it was.

When her feet touched the dirt floor, Havi unhooked herself from the rope and let the bag she carried slip from her shoulder. She tilted her head, cracking her neck, and felt the distinct pinch of the piercings in her nape. The pain was a good kind, though. Reassuring. The pain reminded her of who she was when sometimes, she could feel the fog of forgetting threatening to overwhelm her.

The cavern feasted on any stray light that managed to come down the slim chasm, leaving her in a comfortable blackness until her eyes were more adjusted to the lack of illumination. Slowly, Havi’s gaze swung around the small space, finding the yawning hole she was searching for. Everything she’d been told so far was correct; for that, she was grateful. This trip to Sunnydale was hard enough on her nerves not to have to worry about silly details such as new directions.

Grabbing her bag, she navigated the carved-out corridor, following its twists and bends into the inner chamber she sought. A light grew at the end of the path, and she stepped from the blackness to see the stone pool in the middle of the circular room. The light it provided cast the room in shades of silver and violet, and quickly, she strode to its side, kneeling before the crystalline water and closing her eyes as she bowed her head in prayer.

Her chant was almost too soft to be heard, a soft whisper that could’ve been a breeze as easily as it was a human voice. As she spoke, ripples began to form across the surface of the water, growing in intensity, abounding in strength, until its lapping against the stone sides drowned Havi out.

“Welcome, Child of Life. We have been expecting you.”

The soft chiming of the voice emanated from the water, halting Havi’s chant as she lifted her head to gaze into the mirrored surface. Though she had been around such power since she’d been told she would never be Chosen, feeling its silken touch gliding in and around her on such a close and intimate level unnerved her.

“I am here,” she said, and her voice was shockingly clear to her. “I await your further instruction.”


	12. Play the Mother's Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXLIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Giles and Lydia have met in Sunnydale, while Buffy and Spike have reached a seeming truce regarding the baby and their future…

She slipped out some time in the night. It wasn’t a surprise; Spike had expected her to leave at some point, even as she’d agreed to just being held after her shower. Frankly, he was more than a little shocked Buffy had agreed to stay at all, but he’d been floating too high on the euphoria of the way she’d so deliberately given herself to him, the knowledge that she had every intention of keeping the baby even though it was his, to question it. Pulling on her clothes, she’d lain with him atop the blankets and almost immediately fallen asleep, and Spike had stayed up as long as he could just to watch her.

The entire experience was different from the memories he had of his time with her as a human. He’d been just as fascinated by watching her sleep then, too, he remembered, but now, being a vampire, Spike was far more greatly attuned to the rhythms of her body as she rested, soothed by the hypnotic beat of her pulse, warmed by the growing heat of her flesh. Upon climbing onto the bed, Buffy had automatically spooned back against him, and though his cock stirred back to life at the soft feel of her ass pressing around it, he was more driven by the way she pulled his arm around her waist, deliberately letting his hand come to rest on the flat of her abdomen.

They were having a baby.

His brain was still having difficulty wrapping itself around the concept.

During the time, they’d never worried about protection, not realizing until it was too late that Buffy’s body was on both planes at the same time. And Spike hadn’t been as aware as he should’ve been when he’d smelled the semen on the Slayer’s skin that first time he’d happened across her in the hotel room. Even after his memories had been returned, he hadn’t put two and two together to consider the possibility.

But now here it was.

He could feel it.

It was too early in the pregnancy for him to hear the baby’s heartbeat, though Spike suspected that if he pressed his ear to Buffy’s stomach, he might be able to manage it. But he could feel it beneath her skin, feel the tiny echoes it created as it breathed and moved and just _was_. This was his, more than anything else had ever been, and the depth of that rooted him beside the sleeping Slayer more firmly than his love for her did.

Of course, simmering on the surface of that was the indulgent _I did that_. Even he recognized the prideful boast of his inner voice.

And then there was Buffy. His golden girl. Willing to see the demon in spite of the man. Missing him.

Letting him love her.

When she hadn’t automatically staked him for killing the soldier boy, Spike knew he’d had a chance. She was bending her usual rule to allow him the opportunity to explain himself, and though he didn’t believe he’d done anything wrong, Spike was more than willing to accommodate her. She may not be willing to admit it, and there may be more than a bit for them to catch up on, but deep down, Buffy knew him better than anyone. He was ready to do whatever it took to make sure she remembered that.

He hadn’t wanted to fall asleep, but jet lag and a pervading sense of peace had finally won. He knew from the crack of light beneath his curtain that he hadn’t slept long, but it was enough time for Buffy to rise and make her escape. It hadn’t been for long. Her side of the bed was still warm.

Reaching for her pillow, Spike was about to bury his nose in its thin casing when the sheet of hotel stationery fluttered to the floor. He bent to pick up the folded piece of paper, and the knot that had formed in his gut at the realization she was gone eased as he read it.

* * *

_Dear Spike,_

_Part of me wishes I had the guts to stick around long enough not to have to leave a note. Believe it or not, this is the third note I’ve started. Don’t believe me, just check the wastebasket._

_Last night wasn’t what I expected, and I don’t just mean the whole pregnancy thing. I’m not saying it’s bad, because it wasn’t. It was good, very good. Great, even. But we both know it shouldn’t have happened so soon. I’m not blaming you; I wanted it just as much. But maybe, on your first night here, when there was so much for us to talk about, we should’ve done more of that instead. We could always talk, and even though I probably acted like Buffy the Vampire Slut last night by jumping you in the shower, I miss the talking part of what we had just as much. I told you; I miss my friend. You have no idea how glad I am that he’s back._

_There are things I have to do today, but I’m hoping that I can see you tonight. I’ll be back at sunset. Want to help me patrol? I figure we can talk and kill things at the same time. That’s one kind of multi-tasking I’m actually really good at._

_Thank you for just holding me while I slept. I’ve missed that, too._

_Love,_

_Buffy_

_PS: Try not to kill anybody else I know before I get back tonight. Ha ha._

* * *

In the way of morning after letters, it probably wasn’t the most uplifting, but Spike couldn’t help the smile that curled his lips as he rose and crossed to his bag on the chair. She’d said enough. More importantly, she’d done one thing in this letter that she hadn’t done for either of her two previous.

Tucking the note in with the two he already had safe in his stationery box, Spike pulled out the spare clothing he’d left in the bag. Might as well unpack. Buffy’d be around that night to continue where they’d left off, so he was staying at least another day. His cash wouldn’t hold up for too much longer, though, so he was going to have to get out at some point and nick some more. There was also the matter of blood to arrange. Perhaps he could talk Buffy into swinging by Willy’s after their patrol.

Unless they got otherwise occupied. That was a possibility, too.

He settled back in bed with a grin and a hard-on, his hand wrapping automatically around the rigid shaft and stroking in tandem with his thoughts. Yeah, shagging out at Restfield after a nice spot of violence. Ripping his way past her panties and plowing into her from behind before flipping her over and finishing the job. Then, back to the hotel where he could make love to her proper.

Spike’s eyes drifted shut with the images that played inside his head. He was looking forward to seeing her again that night; even if she didn’t realize it, they’d already taken a huge step forward in their relationship, and he didn’t mean the baby.

After all, Buffy had finally admitted to loving him. She’d said so in the sign-off of her letter. With that out of the way, anything was possible.

* * *

This was impossible. She was crazy to think this was a good idea.

Hesitating on the doorstep, Buffy’s fingers played with the crisp folds in the white bag she carried, staring at the doorknob as if it was going to leap off and beat her over the head if she dared to turn it. She had a class this morning; really, she should be back on campus getting ready for that. Of course, she shouldn’t have spent most of the night in Spike’s hotel room, either, but the moment she’d felt his arms wrap around her, the familiarity of the weight had lulled her into sleep, and she’d slipped into one of the soundest nights’ rest she’d had in weeks.

He’d been asleep when she woke before dawn, and she’d extricated herself from his embrace, only faltering once when his grip tightened momentarily around her waist. For a long minute, Buffy had been tempted to stay, but her mind was already made up about what she had to do, so she’d written her note---or three of them, depending on how she looked at it---and left.

Of course, that same mind was now trying to convince her that this wasn’t something that had to happen right away, that maybe she should just go to her classes and pretend nothing had changed until she was in a better place to talk about it.

She wasn’t so sure she was ever going to be in a better place.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy plastered a bright smile on her face and pushed the door open. “Mom!” she called out, stepping across the threshold to listen to the sounds inside.

“In the kitchen!”

She followed her mother’s voice to find her standing at the island, buttering a piece of toast. Joyce looked up when she entered, a questioning smile on her lips.

“Well, that looks too small to be laundry,” Joyce commented, gesturing toward the white bag in Buffy’s hand with her butter knife. “So you must be here for money instead.”

“What? I can’t just want to have breakfast with my mom?” She set the bag between them and leaned against the counter. “They’re still warm, even.”

Cautiously, Joyce peeked into the bag, all the while watchful of Buffy. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Crullers. See?”

“Don’t you have class this morning?”

“Later. I just thought we could catch up. We haven’t talked in a while. Aren’t you curious about how school is going?”

Joyce’s eyes narrowed, but she reached behind her to grab a second plate, doling out the crullers before pushing one closer to Buffy. “So, how is school going?”

“Good. I’ve even managed not to miss a class so far, though that’s partially the result of an unexpected fear factor. Turns out my psych prof makes Snyder look like Mr. Rogers.” Her fingers flitted around the edge of her plate, unable to settle. “Could we…go eat in the dining room? Sit down? I hear breakfast is supposed to be one of those civilized meals.”

She was having troubles meeting her mother’s gaze, but Buffy knew that her behavior was already garnering the wrong kind of attention she’d had in mind. Instead of waiting for the question to come, however, she picked up her plate and headed for the other room, hoping against hope that her mom would just follow.

Buffy was picking at the glazed sugar on the cruller when Joyce appeared in the entranceway.

“Now, I know something’s wrong,” Joyce said as she took the chair opposite. “As much as I love the idea that you’d just pop by to say hi to your lonely old mother, I’ve got this sneaky suspicion that there’s something on your mind. So, spill. What’s wrong?”

There was no easy way for her to say. As badly as Buffy wanted to just curl up in her mom’s lap and beg her to fix it, she knew that she was too far beyond that now.

Carefully, Buffy withdrew the wrinkled envelope she’d shoved into her purse upon leaving Spike’s hotel room. Not able to meet Joyce’s eyes, she set it on the table and pushed it toward the older woman. She chewed at her lip while her mother picked it up, her already roiling stomach spitting in protest even more at the added worry. She swallowed when Joyce pulled out the pregnancy test.

Time stopped. And then…

“Tell me you found this in Willow’s trash and she’s too afraid to talk to her own mother about it.”

Buffy shrank into herself. “It’s mine.”

Joyce’s nostrils flared. “How far along are you?”

“About eight weeks.”

“Eight…? This happened while you were in _England_?” Her voice was steadily rising in volume. “Does Rupert know about this?”

“No! You’re the first person I’ve told.” OK, so it was a lie, but no way was Buffy going to bring Spike into it at this stage of the game. And technically, it was true if she went on the theory that Spike was a demon, not a person. “I just took the test last night. I haven’t been feeling well and I just wanted to rule out---.”

“Is it that William who was writing you? Is he the father?”

Numb, Buffy nodded.

“I don’t believe this! What were you thinking, Buffy? London was supposed to be about getting over graduation, not jumping into the bed of the first cute boy you saw---.”

“It wasn’t like that!” It came out far too sharp, making both of them wince, and she took a deep breath as Joyce deliberately slid the white stick back across the table. “I wouldn’t do that,” she said again, this time more calmly. “Not after Angel. Trust me to have a little more sense than that, Mom. Please?”

Maybe it was the entreaty she added without even thinking that made her mother pause before speaking again. “Tell me at least that you didn’t fall for some line about him being sterile or something. I’d rather think you were forgetful, not foolish.”

Buffy held her tongue at that. There was no way to explain what had happened in England, though there was a strong likelihood that it would have to occur at some point. Preferably a point when the bulk of the fallout had settled. Instead, she said, “All we cared about was being there for each other. William…he helped me sort my head out. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“No, teenaged mothers rarely do.” Joyce sighed. “I know it’s a little early to ask this, but…have you decided what you’re going to do about it?”

Buffy swallowed. “I’m keeping it.”

The only reaction from her mother was a tightening around her mouth. “There are a lot of repercussions to that decision, you know. Babies are expensive, which means you’ll have to get a job. Very likely, you’ll have to cut back on your classes. And---.”

“I can’t have an abortion, Mom. I kill things every night. I can’t kill this. I can’t.”

Her eyes were shiny as she regarded her mother. She didn’t want to cry in front of her; she had to show that she was responsible enough to be making this kind of decision and sobbing like a little girl would only screw that up. But part of the reason she’d come to her mom first was because Buffy needed her support on this. She didn’t want to be alone.

Joyce’s hand settled over Buffy’s, and for the first time since the news had been broken, smiled softly. “I know,” she said. “But there’s always the possibility of adoption. You don’t have to---.”

“Yes, I do.” She took a deep breath. “I love him, Mom. I couldn’t hurt him that way by giving away his baby. And…I want it.” It was really the first time she’d uttered the desire out loud, but in that second, Buffy knew it to be true. She wanted this child. It might be her only chance to have one.

“When are you going to tell him?”

“Soon.” Another lie. She hated that she was so good at lying to her mother.

“How do you think he’s going to react? Is he going to help support the baby?”

“I think…yeah. He’s very…loyal in that way.” She’d almost said “responsible,” but that had been a word she attached to William, not Spike. She wasn’t sure yet if that was going to be applicable. “He’s going to definitely want to be a part of the baby’s life.”

“Well, that might be difficult if he lives in England.”

“Something tells me he might come to live in Sunnydale if he knew he had a child here.” _Or might already be here._

Joyce’s smile faded slightly. “You don’t have to marry him for the baby’s sake, Buffy. You know that, right? Just because two people have a child together, doesn’t mean that they necessarily---.”

“This is the divorce talk, Mom. I can recite this one in my sleep. Bet you never guessed it would be a multi-purpose kind of talk, though, huh?”

It was a feeble joke, but it served to cut some of the tension, and both women relaxed as they lapsed into thought. Finally, Joyce said, “My baby’s having a baby. I’m going to be a grandmother.” She grimaced. “I’m too young to be a grandmother. I still read Cosmo.”

Buffy couldn’t help but laugh.

It was a start.

* * *

They talked for what felt like hours, and though there were moments where Buffy could sense her mother’s disappointment regarding the pregnancy, the older woman surprised her by mostly holding her tongue. Instead, she went straight into Mom mode, calling into the gallery so that she and Buffy could sit and discuss the entire situation in detail.

In great detail.

She even dragged out a notebook for Buffy to take notes about what she would have to do.

“I’ll get an appointment for you at Dr. Gray’s as soon as possible. I know you’re in great shape, but pregnancy’s a whole ‘nother ball of wax. Write that down.”

“Ball of wax?”

“Not funny, young lady.”

And…

“I know you’ve already made up your mind, but I want you to know what you’re getting yourself into, Buffy. You should talk to some other girls who had a baby at such a young age and kept it. We’ll go down to Planned Parenthood. I’m sure there’s some sort of support group you can sign up for. Write that down.”

And then the one she was dreading…

“What about your slaying? I know it’s not something you can just pick up and drop on a whim, but there’s going to come a point where it’s going to be too dangerous for you to continue. I’m sure Rupert will agree with me.” Pause. “When are you going to tell him?”

Buffy sighed. “Do I have to? I can’t just wear baggy clothes and tell him it’s the newest fashion? It’s Giles. He won’t know any different.” She sagged under her mother’s knowing look. “I know, I know. I just…telling you was easy compared to what telling him is going to be like. I mean, is this something they teach in Watcher school? What if his head explodes?”

“It’s not going to explode,” Joyce reassured. “It might fizzle a little bit, but that’s just because he cares about what happens to you.”

“Maybe you can tell him,” she suggested with a wide smile. “Right after I get out of the state. I’m thinking Wisconsin. That’s pretty far away _and_ they’ve got cheese.”

“You want to prove to me you’re responsible to have this baby? This is where you start. However…” She took a deep breath. “If you want me to be there when you tell him---.”

“Yes!” Buffy jumped at the offer. There were so many things that could go wrong, but maybe with a buffer… “Oh, god, yes!”

With a definitive nod, Joyce rose from her chair. “No time like the present then,” she announced.

“…Present?”

“As in now.”

“How about, present as in after I go back to the dorm and change?” She was stalling. She really didn’t want to do this.

Joyce frowned. “Why would you change?”

She glanced down at her clothes. Crap. Her mom didn’t realize Buffy’d been wearing the same clothes the previous night.

“Did I say change? I meant, talk to Willow. So she can get any assignments I might miss when I miss class today.”

It sounded lame, and Joyce still looked skeptical. “Well, I’m only agreeing to this because I don’t want you to miss out on any of your schoolwork. After you talk to Willow, we’re going to straight to Rupert’s.”

* * *

She was just picking up her notebook from her desk when Willow heard a key turn in the lock, lifting her head just in time to see Buffy slip inside.

“Hey,” she said with a small smile. She tried not to notice that her friend was wearing the same clothes as yesterday and failed miserably. “I was wondering if you were going to show up in time to go to class.”

“I won’t be there,” came the reply. “Can I…talk to you for a sec?”

Willow frowned as she followed her to their beds, sitting on her own while Buffy perched on the edge of hers. Besides the clothes that were distinctly not fresh, Buffy’s cheeks were pale, her eyes dark with some unknown worry. She didn’t look tired, though, which meant that Willow’s suspicion about where she’d spent the night was most likely true.

When she’d woken up back in her dorm room and not in Restfield, Oz had told her what happened, including the detail about Spike showing up and killing Riley. Willow had felt a pang of sorrow at the loss of the young TA, but it had been squelched when she remembered that he was part of Buffy’s mysterious vigilante group, and that he’d just been about to take Oz away because he was a werewolf. That was the theory according to Oz and Spike, at least. And it made sense to her.

But when she’d lain awake until almost three o’clock, and Buffy still hadn’t showed up after leaving Oz at the cemetery, Willow had known she’d gone looking for Spike. She hadn’t really expected her to stay out all night, but considering how much history was between them, it wasn’t really a surprise. She figured now Buffy was going to tell her what had happened between them.

“I don’t know how to say this,” Buffy was saying.

“It’s OK,” Willow cut in. “I know. Oz told me.”

Buffy frowned. “How does Oz know?”

“He was there. He told you about Spike, remember?”

A moment of understanding flickered behind Buffy’s eyes, and she shook her head. “That’s not what I was…” She took a deep breath. “I saw him last night, though. Spike. He was at the Factory, and then, I kind of…spent the night with him. He’s got a room out at The Arms.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

“There’s more. He…when we…I went and…” She flopped back onto her mattress, her eyes closing. “God, I should just carry that damn stick around. It does all the talking for me.”

“Stick? You have a new weapon?”

Buffy laughed, a brittle sound that was far from cheerful. “That’s one way of putting it,” she said. Her eyes opened and she turned a bleak gaze toward Willow. “There’s a reason I haven’t been feeling very well lately, and apparently it took Spike and his bionic vampire hands to figure it out for me.”

“Buffy, I _really_ don’t need to hear about your---.”

“I’m pregnant.”

The two words hung between them, and Willow’s jaw dropped. OK, not what she was expecting to hear. When Buffy had said bionic vampire hands, Willow had immediately assumed it was some sexual thing that she was now feeling guilty about. But this…this was huge. Well, tiny. Her eyes flitted to Buffy’s flat stomach. Microscopic at this stage. She wasn’t even showing yet. In fact, she couldn’t be more than---.

“Oh my god, it’s Spike’s, isn’t it?”

Buffy bolted upward at that, suddenly come to life again. “It’s _William’s_ ,” she stressed. “It’s biologically impossible for vampires to reproduce.”

She sounded like she was quoting from one of Giles’ vampire books, but there was no way Willow was going to argue the semantics of it with her. “Maybe Spike is wrong, though,” she said instead. “If he just---oh. You said stick. You meant a pregnancy test, didn’t you?”

A nod. “I left it in the car. I didn’t even think---.”

“Car?”

“Mom’s. That’s why I’m going to miss class this morning. Mom’s coming along as moral support for when I tell Giles. And maybe a blockade in case he decides to kill me.”

“So…you told her?” Willow listened as Buffy relayed the events of the morning, and while she felt relief that Mrs. Summers hadn’t been as bitter about it as she could’ve been, it made her nervous that so much was still being unsaid.

“And if I don’t get back down there, she’s going to send out a search party.” Buffy rose to her feet, going to her closet and quickly changing out of her clothes and into jeans and a t-shirt, all the while babbling about the things Mrs. Summers was making her do about the baby. She didn’t let Willow get a word in edgewise, and it wasn’t until she was pulling her hair up into a ponytail that she even looked back at the bed.

“Please tell me you’re not disappointed in me.” Her eyes were slightly shiny, and Willow realized that Buffy was walking the edge of her nerves, desperately in search of someone to just accept what had happened without judging her morality for it.

“Of course I’m not.” Quickly, she crossed and gave Buffy a tight hug. “I just want you to be OK.”

“I am. I _am_.”

“But, Buffy…” She was frowning when her friend pulled away. “Do you think it’s right about not telling your mom the truth about the father? I mean, from everything that happened in England, and from what you’ve said, Spike could be a really good ally for you to have in all this. He loves you---.”

“I can’t. Not now. It’s too hard.” And the walls that had been around Buffy upon her arrival were back up, and she was pulling away, back to the door and off to what she considered the British firing squad. “You’ll get the assignment, right?”

Willow nodded, waving half-heartedly when Buffy shot her a quick smile and vanished out the exit. Before the door had even clicked shut, however, she was stepping across the floor and punching in the numbers on the telephone as she picked up the receiver.

“Oz?” she said when the other end of the line picked up. “I need you. And bring the van.”

* * *

She picked up the ringing phone without blinking an eye. “Dr. Walsh.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

The sound of his voice made her pen slip slightly across the page, and Maggie frowned at the downward curve on the C she’d been placing on the paper. “So good to hear from you, General Martin. I can’t imagine what could be so important that you’d break protocol and contact me here, though. It’s not a secure line, remember?”

“This couldn’t wait until you get back tonight. I have your requisition in front of me. You can’t think that I’m going to approve this!”

“I don’t think you have much of a choice. Finn was killed in the line of duty last night and I require a replacement for him.”

“I understand that. What I don’t understand is why you require a civilian to fill that role.”

She wasn’t going to get any more grading done until this conversation was over. Setting down her pen, Maggie held in her sigh as she leaned back in her chair. “I need someone I can trust.”

“Which means you recruit from within the ranks.”

“Excuse me for saying so, sir, but the fact that Finn was taken out speaks a lot for the danger of the situation. I need the best, and frankly, that’s who I asked for. His credentials are impeccable and his training has been topnotch. He was one of the best students I ever had back East, and he brings knowledge to the table that nobody else within the Initiative has. I _need_ this man.”

“He’s not military. He’s not one of us.”

“He is in spirit. Trust me, General. Have I ever let you down?”

There was no way he could argue with her on that point, and they both knew it. With a heavy sigh, he said, “I’m making a note in your file that this was done against my better discretion. And this civilian’s life will be your responsibility, Maggie. If something happens to him---.”

“Nothing will. He can take care of himself. Very well, I might add.”

She had a smile on her face when she replaced the phone on its cradle. She’d never doubted she would get what she wanted; this was her operation and General Martin knew better than to question her capability in fulfilling it. The loss of Riley might sting, but in the long run, it allowed her to pull in someone who was infinitely more qualified to accomplish what she needed.

Now she only had to wait until he arrived.


	13. Truth Needs No Color

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy has told Joyce and Willow about the baby, and is on her way to Giles’ to break the news to him…

Buffy realized that the car must’ve been stopped for at least a minute before she actually noticed.

“It’s going to be OK,” Joyce said. She reached over and squeezed Buffy’s hand reassuringly. “Rupert will appreciate the honesty.”

She squeezed her eyes shut at the casual use of the word, Willow’s questions about how much Buffy had held back when she told her mom echoing inside her head. Was he going to figure out that Spike was the father? And if he did, would he say anything about it right away? Giles had kept mum on the subject around Xander---which was another mess of trouble she didn’t have the strength to deal with right now---so maybe he would adopt the same attitude with her mom. Buffy could only hope.

“We have life insurance, right?” she said, opening her eyes and offering a weak smile. “I’d hate to get killed and not having anything good from it.”

“Come on,” Joyce said. Unbuckling her seat belt, she picked up the bag with the pregnancy test and pressed it into Buffy’s hands. “Let’s get this over with. You’ll feel better when it’s done.”

I’ll feel better in Hawaii, Buffy thought wistfully as the pair of them headed for Giles’ apartment. Every step cemented the sensation that she was on her way to a firing squad, with each foot covered adding a fresh turn to her stomach, until by the time she was knocking on his door, it was all she could do not to vomit on his welcome mat.

She bolted as soon the door opened, knocking Giles back and out of the way as she ran for the bathroom with her hand covering her mouth. Two minutes later, her breakfast cruller was history and beads of sweat were cooling her brow. Whoever invented this part of pregnancy sucked, she thought as she rose and rinsed her mouth out in the sink. She regarded her wan reflection in the mirror. Whatever happened to pregnant women glowing?

The soft murmur of voices forced Buffy to adopt a bright smile as she headed back for the living room. “Hey, at least I haven’t lost my touch for a great entrance,” she joked as she entered the room. She froze almost immediately when, instead of the two adults she’d thought to find, she was confronted with four, all of them turning to look at her in expectation.

Joyce and Giles remained near the now-closed front door. Buffy’s eyes flickered over Wesley sitting on the couch; if she hadn’t seen him just the night before, she probably would’ve been a little more surprised about his presence. It was the fourth in the room that her gaze locked on, the blood in her veins firing as she noted the shorter hair, the familiar way she was helping herself to a fresh cup of tea from the service that was on the coffee table. Lydia looked like she didn’t have a care in the world, and all of a sudden, Buffy wanted to throttle her.

“Are you all right?”

The quiet concern in Giles’ voice was just enough to drag Buffy’s gaze away from Lydia, and she remembered the reason she was here in the first place. I can’t do this in front of them, she thought frantically, and her eyes flew to meet Joyce’s. There, she found the support that had been present almost since she’d told her mom, and knew that if she really wanted to, she could postpone this little talk for when things were more private. Her mom would understand.

“I’m fine,” she said, and raised a finger to point to Lydia. “What the hell is _she_ doing here?”

Clearing his throat, Giles removed his glasses as he came back into the main room. “That’s rather a long story, Buffy,” he said, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to begin polishing his lenses.

She rolled her eyes. Could he be any more obvious that he didn’t want to talk about this? “After what happened in England, I think that might be a story I need to hear,” she said.

“Who is this?” Joyce asked, stepping forward to Buffy’s side. “You know her?”

“I met her when we were in London. She’s a Watcher.”

“Ex, actually.” The smile Lydia gave her was surprisingly congenial. “Hello, Buffy.”

The sound of her first name made her eyes narrow. Lydia had never deigned to this form of familiarity before; why would she start now? Had Spike talked about her that much that it would breed such a false sense of intimacy? For some reason, that thought gave Buffy a warm shiver of satisfaction.

She also knew why the Watcher was here. Of course she would come to her local compatriots after Spike ditched her. Lydia wasn’t stupid. But if Buffy didn’t ask, they’d know that she’d already seen Spike and she just wasn’t ready to face the explanations that would entail just yet.

“You cut your hair,” Buffy commented. “It looked better longer.”

“Buffy Anne Summers!”

She shrank beneath the harshness of her mother’s tone. So, OK, it was catty to the Cordelia degree, but she couldn’t help it. Knowing how Lydia felt about Spike, and knowing that she was the one who’d been aiding and abetting his reasons for being away so long pissed Buffy off, even if she knew she didn’t really have any right to be so possessive of him.

“It’s perfectly all right.” Lydia didn’t seem in the slightest ruffled by the criticism regarding her appearance, so much so that Buffy had to fight not to wipe the smug smile off her face. “It would seem that she’s not feeling well. It’s more than understandable.”

“I’m feeling just great,” Buffy snapped.

“You… _did_ throw up again,” Giles said quietly. “Are you certain that’s entirely true?”

The reminder about why she was there in the first place made her pause, and she shot a sideways glance to her mother. Some of the support she’d seen there earlier was gone, replaced with a mild exasperation with her daughter’s rude behavior, and Buffy knew that she’d be better off just telling the news now. It wasn’t like it was going to be able to be kept secret much longer anyway.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy pulled out the pregnancy test from the bag she still clutched and held it out to Giles. “Surprise,” she said. “You’re going to be a grand-Watcher.”

He’d taken the white stick from her with a confused frown, but her choice of words made him visibly start before his gaze jerked back up to stare at her. Behind him, Wesley rose to his feet, suddenly interested in the proceedings, and Lydia took a step forward, as if that would afford her a better look at the test.

“You’re pregnant?” Giles asked, incredulous. “How is that possible?”

Buffy grinned, though it was more nerves than anything else. “Wow, I guess you guys really _don’t_ have sex.”

“Buffy…” Joyce warned from behind her.

He looked back down at the test, turning it over in his hands as if the view from the other side would tell him something different. “How far along are you?” he asked tightly.

“I’m not sure.” It wasn’t a lie; she _wasn’t_ completely positive. “I just took the test last night and all it tells you is yea or nay.”

“We’re going to make an appointment with the doctor as soon as we can,” Joyce said. “Buffy’s going to do this right. Aren’t you, honey?”

“Right,” she said, though her voice didn’t seem so sure.

She was still watching Giles, trying to gauge what direction his mood was going to take. He hadn’t put his glasses back on after her question about Lydia, and the nakedness bared the conflicting emotions within his eyes. Disbelief, calculation, disappointment. It was the last that cut the deepest.

“Perhaps the test is wrong,” he finally said. He held it out, waiting for Buffy to take it back. “Perhaps we’re over-reacting for nothing.”

“False positives on pregnancy tests are rare, Rupert. Besides, Buffy admitted that they weren’t very careful, so it’s more than likely right.”

“I didn’t even realize you were seeing anybody,” Giles said. “How could you not take better precautions?”

With a determined step, Joyce moved herself between Buffy and her Watcher. “I don’t appreciate the tone you’re taking,” she warned. “Especially since you were the one who was supposedly getting her out of the country for her own good. If you feel like laying a finger of blame, I suggest you start looking at yourself.”

“What are you talking about?”

“About William, of course. He’s the father.”

It felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room, and Buffy closed her eyes against what she knew was going to come next.

“What?!?” She peeked through her lashes to see an outraged Giles pushing past Joyce to confront Buffy directly. “This is _Spike’s_ child?”

“This is extraordinary,” Wesley commented. “Completely unprecedented.”

“What’re you talking about?” Joyce asked. “What does Spike have to do with this? Buffy said the father was that William boy she met in London. The one who’s been writing her.”

“Yes,” Giles said through gritted teeth. “William _the Bloody_. Also known as Spike, the Slayer of Slayers.” All his focus was trained on Buffy, and she tensed as she saw the white-hot fury sparking in his gaze.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she started.

“I highly doubt that, young lady. How could be so _completely_ irresponsible?”

His mood was rubbing off on her, and Buffy’s hackles automatically stood up. “Excuse me, Giles, but last time I checked, it wasn’t possible to get pregnant while you were dreaming,” she replied. “I didn’t _know_ , OK?”

“You knew who you were sleeping with. That should’ve been enough reason not to allow it to progress that far.”

“That was _every_ reason. I _love_ him. That’s what people in love _do_.”

“That’s not what _Slayers_ do!”

“Are we back to that? How many times do we have to have this fight, Giles? I might be the Slayer, but I’m still a girl, and that means I have a life---.”

“Not after you have this baby, you won’t,” he said wryly. “Although, of course, it’s not going to come to that.” He turned to Joyce. “Since it’s clear that she went to you first, please tell me you at least had the good sense to discuss getting rid of it with her.”

“I am _not_ having an abortion!”

Buffy’s tone shattered everyone’s attention on Joyce, and all eyes turned to stare at the Slayer.

Her nostrils flared as she fought to control her raging emotions. “Don’t even think about arguing with me about this,” she warned. “I’ve already made my decision, and I. Can’t. Kill it. The whole point of me being the Slayer is so that I can do what it takes to preserve human life. That includes _this_ one.”

The determination in her gaze made him pause. “Having a child changes everything, Buffy.” Giles had softened his tone. “I don’t think you realize the severity of your situation.”

“Yes, I do.”

He took a deep breath. “At least tell me, you plan on giving it away when it’s born.”

“No. I’m keeping it.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s mine.” She paused, her eyes darting to the others in the room. Lydia watched her in sympathy. They knew the rest of the reason; it was pointless for Buffy to try and deny it. “Because it’s his.”

The silence that ensued was only broken by the sound of Giles’ heavy breathing. Finally, Joyce stepped forward to stand at his side, her frowning visage gazing down at Buffy.

“Is this baby really Spike’s?” she asked. “And I want the truth this time.”

She sighed. “Kind of. It’s a long and _really_ complicated story.”

“Then I suggest you start talking.”

A soft and rapid knock came at the door. With a quick glance at Buffy, Giles strode to answer it, frowning slightly when he saw Willow and Oz on the other side. “I thought our meeting wasn’t until this evening,” he said.

“It’s not.” Her eyes darted to the pregnancy test he still held in his hand. “But I think we got here just in time.”

She stepped back and away to allow a smoking figure to take her place. Buffy’s heart began hammering in her chest when the steaming blanket that covered it was pulled up enough to reveal Spike’s face.

“’Lo, Rupert,” he said.

* * *

To say he’d been shocked when Red had shown up at his hotel room insisting that he come and help Buffy break the news about the baby to Giles was an understatement. But to see the look on the Watcher’s face when Spike showed up on his doorstep made all the questions in his head worth it.

Until the wanker’s fist shot out and cuffed him across the jaw.

“You son of a bitch!” Giles growled as Spike went sprawling into the sunlight. The blanket fell back, exposing his head, and immediately, flames sprang from his scalp. Before he could react to the blow, however, Buffy was at his side, dragging him back into the shadow of the eaves and pulling the covering back over his hair.

“Let him in, Giles,” she ordered. Her arm was strong around Spike’s midsection, warm and distracting from the burn beneath his hair.

Even Willow’s eyes widened at the show of solidarity from the Slayer, and Spike couldn’t help his smirk as his gaze locked with the Watcher’s. “You heard her,” he said. “Invite a vamp in for a cuppa, mate.”

From the look on his face, it was the last thing Giles wanted to do. His lips thinned, his nostrils flared, and his hand was still clenched into a fist at his side. “I don’t---.”

“Do it, Rupert.” Joyce appeared at his shoulder, but her eyes were fixed on Spike. It wasn’t the sympathetic woman he remembered, nor the one Red had described when she’d said Buffy claimed her mother was on her side. This was the vengeful grandmother of his unborn child, the one who was none too thrilled with the baby’s father at the moment.

_Bugger._

“I have a few things I’d like to say to Spike,” she was saying. “And I’d prefer if he wasn’t dust when I do it.”

With both Summers’ women against him, Giles didn’t stand a chance. Sighing in weary reluctance, he took a step away from the door and muttered, “Come in, Spike.”

In a flash, Buffy was pulling him across the threshold, followed quickly by Willow and Oz. As soon as he was free from the blanket, however, she broke away, skirting around to a vacant corner of the room as if she wanted to be completely on her own.

“Good thing Red brought me my invite,” Spike drawled, hopping onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Looks like this is quite the fete.” He saw the blonde Watcher hovering in the background and cocked an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you long to turn stoolie,” he commented.

“You know her, too?” Joyce asked.

“Sure. Don’t know that one, though.” He leveled a finger at the tall dark man by the couch.

“Wesley Wyndam-Pryce,” he said. “I’m---.”

“Not important,” Spike cut off. Too many bloody Watchers in the room. “Right. So, since Lydia’s here and you’re waving that---,” he pointed to the pregnancy test that Giles still held, “---like it’s the soddin’ sword of Damocles, I’m goin’ to guess secrets aren’t our top priority any more.” He ticked them off as he listed them. “Buffy’s pregnant, the baby’s mine, I was gone but now I’m back. Any questions?”

There was a moment of silence before Joyce said, “Nobody’s told me yet how it’s possible for a vampire to have children.”

“Easy,” Spike said. “I wasn’t a vamp when me and Buffy hooked up.” He saw the Slayer wince at his phraseology. Fuck. He needed to start thinking about his words if he didn’t want to make this worse.

Joyce didn’t miss the phrase either. Folding her arms across her chest, she said, “Hooked up? Is that what vampires call it these days?”

“It’s not like that,” he hastened to say. “I love Buffy and she---.”

“Is pregnant, by _you_ it would appear, and nobody has bothered to explain yet how the hell that could’ve happened,” Joyce finished, exasperated. She turned to Giles. “Now, before any of this farce goes any further, someone is going to tell me how Spike can go from being a vampire, to not being a vampire, then back again, and somehow in the middle of it all, get my little girl pregnant.”

“Mom! I’m not a little girl!”

It was the first thing Buffy had said since Spike’s invitation inside, and he swiveled his head to try and catch her eyes. _I’m doin’ this for us, luv_ , he wanted to say, but it was impossible to convey the thought with her avoiding his gaze.

“You’d best sit down, Joyce,” Spike said, and patted the stool next to him. “This one’s a doozy.”

* * *

The room was somber when all was said and done. Giles had started out telling the story, with the occasional interjection from Willow, but as soon as he reached the point of the dreams, Buffy had spoken up, her voice low, her eyes downcast, and the group had grown silent as they listened to her finish the tale.

Spike relived it as she spoke. Every second. Every word. Every kiss. It was the first time he’d heard her perspective on what had happened---about all of it---and hearing her voice betray the tenderness that had distinguished the time they’d shared whetted his love for this girl more than seeing any words she might scribble out for him. He hadn’t thought that could be possible.

He ached to get up and take her in his arms, to let her know she wasn’t alone in this, but the chill from the others made him hesitate. Lydia knew the truth, and he suspected Rupert probably knew at least part of what had been happening over the past eight weeks, but until he got Joyce back on his side, Spike knew he had to be careful how he conducted himself in front of her. Buffy had chosen to tell Joyce first---for a reason---and Red had made it more than clear that the elder Summers woman was prepared to stand by her daughter, come hell or high water. Apparently, however, having a vampire as the father of a future grandchild superceded both hell and any level of water, high or not.

“…then when I saw him that last night---.”

“Wait.” Giles interrupted for the first time since Buffy had started speaking. “You _saw_ Spike again before we left London? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because…” And she looked at Spike, chewing her lip. He could see the entreaty she was probably not even aware of, and though a part of him was hurt that she hadn’t been upfront with everyone about their truce, a bigger part knew exactly why she’d done it.

“Because what was said is between me and the Slayer,” he said, hopping off the stool. Though her eyes widened as he did so, Spike strode purposely to Buffy’s side and turned to square off with the others. “None of you lot were there,” he went on. “None of you lot can understand what it was that happened between us.”

“Spike---.”

“No, luv. You had your turn. Now’s the time for a different view.”

And he talked, and as he talked, his accent softened, his words returning to a rhythm from days gone past. He hadn’t planned on revealing so much about his own history, about those days as a human when he’d felt so useless and fearful, but he knew from watching their faces that as moving as Buffy’s story was, they weren’t seeing it as anything more than the ramblings of a young woman at the mercy of her hormones. They needed the other side; without it, the tale was only half-told.

Giles dropped his eyes midway through the story, and Spike knew he was remembering his tenure with Anne and his first and only encounter with a human William. Lydia sat with her usual sycophantic adoration, while the other Watcher seemed fascinated with the various magical details. But it was Joyce who received the bulk of Spike’s focus. Joyce was the one who had to believe that he loved Buffy, that he wasn’t going to hurt her. Most importantly, she had to believe that she could trust him.

“So, you can lecture me all you want. I can take it. But it’s not goin’ to change the fact that I made Buffy a promise. I’m not goin’ anywhere. I wasn’t goin’ to before I found out she was pregnant, and I sure as hell am not goin’ to now. Know you don’t like it, but guess what? Doesn’t matter. That baby’s mine just as much as it is hers, and Buffy knows that. She knows I love her, and she trusts me. That should be enough for you. It’s more than enough for me.”

He didn’t mention her love for him. To announce it would sound arrogant and likely backfire if Buffy decided to get scared about it all.

“Quite an eloquent speech,” Giles said quietly. He lifted his eyes, but there was still a modicum of reserve within their depths. “But you’ve overlooked one irrefutable fact, Spike. While William was most certainly a remarkable young man, he’s dead. You’re not him. You’re a vampire.”

He didn’t want to do it, but…

“Angel was a vampire,” Spike said. “And you didn’t have a problem with him bein’ around.”

“Angel had a soul.”

“Not to mention the fact that Angel left town,” said Joyce. She wasn’t as angry or cold as she had been when he’d first arrived, but the walls were still there.

“Oh, and we _all_ know just how great that made Buffy feel, now don’t we?”

“He did it because he realized he couldn’t give her the future she deserved,” she countered.

“Then there you go.” Pulling Buffy to her feet and stepping behind her, Spike settled his hand over her stomach and leveled a proud stare at the group. “ _I_ already have.”

The last thing he expected was for Buffy to disentangle herself from his arms.

But she did.

And she did so without even turning back to look at him.

“So now you know,” she said, addressing everyone but Spike. “And nothing is any different now than it was when I first walked through that door this morning. I don’t expect you to just automatically be OK with this. Believe me, I know how wacky the whole thing sounds. So, all I ask is that you just…think about it all. Think about what you would do if you were in my shoes.” She glanced at Giles and tried to smile. “Just don’t actually _get_ into my shoes because those kind of images in my head, I _don’t_ need.”

“Buffy---.”

“No.” She cut her Watcher off, and turned for the doorway. “I’m done talking about this. I’m going to go to class while I can still fit in the lecture hall seats.”

“I’ll come with you,” Willow said.

Hesitating before Oz, Buffy cast one more glance at Spike before she said to her friend, “Can you get him back to the hotel for me, please? Preferably not in an ashtray.”

“Will do.”

She looked at Spike one last time before disappearing out the door, Willow right on her heels. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was she was feeling at the moment, though the fact that she’d ensured him a safe ride had to count for something, he figured. Not once during the long conversation had she ever said a disparaging word about him, or William, or about their time together, but neither had she come right out and backed him up when he made his assertions.

He wondered if she was still going to show up that night, or if the three-ring circus had tainted what they’d already shared.

God, he hoped she’d come.


	14. In the Main of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LX.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Willow showed up at Giles’ with Spike and, together, they confronted the trio of Watchers and Joyce  
> about the pregnancy…

Willow expected to be confronted as soon as they left Giles’, but as they walked down the sidewalk toward campus, Buffy remained as silent and withdrawn as she’d been during those weeks before they’d left for London. As the minutes stretched the anticipation to greater fidgets than anything she imagined Buffy could actually say, though, Willow decided to take the Slayer by the horns and bring it up herself.

“I know you didn’t want Spike there,” she said, “but I think it turned out pretty well, considering. And that accent! Is that how William sounded? He makes Giles sound like those guys we heard on-.”

“You shouldn’t have interfered.”

Buffy didn’t raise her voice, and she didn’t look at her friend when she spoke, but even without such demonstrations, Willow heard the reprobation in her words. She flushed in spite of the day’s rising heat. “I’m sorry,” she hurried to say. “And, I know you don’t want to hear this, and I can’t believe I’m going to _say_ it, but Spike…he wants only the best for you, Buffy. He was the best ally you could’ve had in there. You’ve got to admit, he was pretty convincing. I mean, I completely get what it was you saw in him now. It sounded like you two really did a lot for each other.”

“I told you that when we were in London. Since when are you such a Spike supporter?”

Willow bit her lip. She didn’t dare tell Buffy about the small spell she’d done on the letters. Not only would it demonstrate a lack of trust, but Buffy was already worried about her use of the stolen magic. If she found out that Willow was using it like she was, she’d tell Giles, and that was one detail the witch wanted to keep private.

“Since he became the father of your baby,” she replied instead. “You weren’t watching him. You didn’t see his face. He’s head over heels for this baby and it’s not even born yet.”

She thought she’d overstepped the boundaries of their friendship until Buffy whispered, “I know.”

“Then why didn’t you want him there?” Willow asked gently.

“Because nobody knows him like I do. You heard Giles. They still think there’s such a difference between the human and the vampire, but…I don’t know. Angel without his soul was a completely new person, but Spike…there’s _so_ much William in him, and I have absolutely no idea how that can be. He looks at me, and I see William. He talks to me, and I _hear_ him. And when he touches me…”

Her voice trailed off, lost in some memories known only to her. When Willow stole a glance sideways, she saw the wistful longing softening Buffy’s face, the sad upturn of her mouth. She may not have said the words out loud, and she might have fled his presence after getting the truth told, but there was no doubt in Willow’s mind that Buffy loved Spike, too. She just needed to admit it to herself.

“Do you think Spike would be different if he had a soul?”

The Slayer’s question came out of the blue, and Willow stopped in her tracks as she gaped at her friend. Buffy continued walking for a few paces before realizing she was alone, and stopped to look back.

“What? I was just wondering.”

“Wondering, as in intellectual speculation, or wondering, as in ‘Willow, can you give Spike back his soul?’”

“Just…wondering.”

She wasn’t, and it was written all over her face.

“You can’t get William back, Buffy.” Willow kept her tone as gentle as possible, and began walking again in order to get back to her friend’s side. “Putting a soul in him isn’t going to make Spike forget about the last century of being a vampire.”

“It would make Giles and Mom accept him easier, though.”

She couldn’t argue with that. She had a sneaky suspicion Buffy was right.

“But would it be worth it to potentially lose him?” Willow asked. “It’s possible Spike with a soul wouldn’t be anything at all like how you know him. Do you really want to risk that?”

Tentatively, Buffy shook her head, and the girls resumed their walking. They were on the edge of campus before either of them spoke again.

“Do you think there’s any way Spike can be a good thing for this baby?” Buffy asked.

Remembering the fiery torrent of emotion that flooded through her when she’d scanned Spike’s letters, Willow smiled. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I think he could be a good thing for both of you.”

* * *

The moment Buffy left, Giles rose to his feet.

“Spike, a word with you in the kitchen, please?”

The words were polite, but the tone was cold, and the danger flashing in the Watcher’s eyes was enough to make Spike tense.

“Not really all that private in there,” he said. He hooked his thumbs through his belt loops in cocky defiance. “So, if you have something to say to me, you might as well have at it out here.”

For a moment, Giles’ eyes flickered among the room’s other occupants. Oz still stood near the door, observing the group in silence, while Wesley and Lydia hung back behind the Watcher, curious as to which decision he would make. It was Joyce who received the longest consideration, and as she lifted her chin to stare him down, Giles sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly.

“I want to know why you’re here,” he said.

Spike couldn’t help his grin. “Checkin’ out my intentions, eh? Guess I couldn’t expect any less.”

“You could’ve stayed away.”

“No, I couldn’t. I promised Buffy that I’d come, so come I did.”

“But that was nearly eight weeks ago,” said Joyce. “How can you expect me to believe that you’re so concerned about Buffy’s wellbeing when you didn’t even bother to come with her?”

Spike glanced at Lydia, and could tell from the slight rush in her heart rate that she was anxious about his response. Giles, too, seemed already to be aware of what the answer to the question would be, his hands disappearing into his pockets and fiddling with the coins they found there.

“Because what kept me away _was_ for Buffy’s sake,” Spike replied. Sod the rest of them, he decided. Of everyone in the room, the one he needed to be concerned with the most was Joyce, and to a lesser extent, Rupert. These were the two who the Slayer looked to for guidance, for support. These were the two he most needed to get onto his side. Without them, any future he and Buffy might have would be difficult, if not impossible, to endure.

Carefully, Spike closed the distance between him and Joyce, watching as she stiffened upon his approach. Easing back onto the stool next to her, he turned to face her directly, blocking out everybody else in the room.

“Buffy is an amazing woman,” he said. “And she’s an even more amazing Slayer. Some of the credit for that goes to Rupert, but some of that also goes to you. Mums are the most incredible creatures, you know? Mine did so much to try and make up for some of the hardships I had back in the day, just like I know you do for Buffy.”

“I don’t see-.”

“Let me finish.” The eyes of others in the room were heavy upon him, but he deliberately ignored them. “The thing of it is, though, it’s not enough. To you, she’s still your little girl, but to a good number out there, she’s the Big Bad Kickass Slayer. Which means there’s always going to be someone gunning for her, and there’ll always be some nasty lurking around the corner, just waiting for his chance to get a taste of her. We might not like it, but the truth of the matter is, Buffy beats the odds against her every single night she makes it back to crawl between her cozy little sheets. So, I just decided to make sure that that happens for as long as possible, is all. I was off tryin’ to find something I thought would help her out with her slaying, and when it didn’t pan out, I came straight here. To help her fight. To stand by her and behind her for as long as I can. For as long as she lets me.”

“Because you love her.”

There was no question in her voice, no blame. Her eyes as they regarded his were solemn, but the coldness that had been present upon his arrival seemed to have waned.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Yeah,” Spike agreed softly. “Because I love her.”

Giles cleared his throat. “As…passionate as you appear, Spike,” he said, “why should we believe you? How do we know you’re not here with ulterior motives?”

“Ask him.” Spike pointed to Oz. “Go on, tell him how I saved you and Red last night. And the Slayer wasn’t anywhere around, was she?”

“He’s right,” Oz said. “He saved our lives.”

Giles’ attention immediately shifted, and he frowned in concern. “What happened? Was it vampires?”

“More vigilantes. Willow and I were on a stakeout for Buffy and they showed up.”

“But why would they attack you? I thought they were only interested in vampires.”

“Looks like they decided they wanted a werewolf to toss in the mix,” Spike said.

Speaking drew Giles’ focus back to Spike, and the Watcher’s eyes narrowed. “Buffy said the vigilantes were human,” he said carefully. “If you saved Willow and-.”

“It was self-defense.” Oz remained unflappable when attention was drawn to him. “Spike knocked out the last one, but when he turned his back, the guy pulled a knife. Spike didn’t have a choice.”

He hadn’t expected the show of support from the werewolf, even though Buffy had told him about what had been said at the graveyard after Spike had scarpered off, so he nodded to Oz in gratitude. An unexpected ally. It made for a nice change.

“Still,” Giles was saying, “it doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a vampire, Spike. Your instinct is to kill. Do you expect me to believe that you can just ignore that because of your love for Buffy?”

At least he wasn’t questioning the validity of his emotions, Spike thought. Rupert wasn’t calling it his _presumed_ love; he was phrasing his doubts in such a way that there was no mistaking he believed the feelings to be real.

“Been baggin’ it ever since London,” he said proudly, and jabbed a finger in Lydia’s direction. “She’s my proof of that.”

“Yes,” she confirmed. “And as far as I’m aware, William hasn’t killed beyond the realm of his duty, either.”

He winced at her casual use of the word “duty,” and noticed Giles doing the same. It made him sound like a ponce, when, really, it was just about making sure that Buffy stayed safe and able to rely on him. She couldn’t very well do that if he was arbitrarily slaughtering half the humans he came across.

“And now that I’ve said my piece,” Spike said, rising to his feet again, “I got a bone to pick with you.” He moved until he faced off with Giles. “What’s with riding Buffy so hard about this baby? Me, I can understand, but you’re s’posed to be her bloody Watcher-.”

“Exactly. Buffy’s the Slayer. Which means everything she does gets examined in excruciating detail by the Council, especially now that I’m back in their employ and she’s presumably back under their control. Trust me. They look none too fondly on Slayers who choose to have children. They believe it diverts the Slayer’s focus from their mission, which is why they do everything in their power to discourage any such thing happening in the first place. How do you think Quentin Travers is going to react when he learns about her state? I’m trying to protect her.”

“You tried talking her into an abortion,” Joyce said quietly.

His reaction was instinctual.

Plaster rained around their heads when Spike slammed Giles into the wall, his forearm crushing into the older man’s throat as he pinned him in place.

“That’s _mine_ you’re tryin’ to get rid of there,” Spike growled. He ignored the Watcher’s clawing at his arm. “But that doesn’t even matter. The one who gets to make that decision is _Buffy_ , not you and not those wankers back in merry ol’, understand?”

There was a rustle of activity behind him, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lydia stop Wesley from approaching. It didn’t, however, stop Oz from coming up and curling a hand around the elbow of the arm that held Giles against the wall.

“Spike, man, maybe we should go.”

The realization that he was being pulled off a potentially volatile situation took a moment to sink into Spike’s skull. His eyes flashing, he released his hold, taking a step back and glaring as Giles spluttered and sagged. He shook off Oz’s grip and stalked back to where he’d dropped his blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders without even a glance at the others in the room.

“And you wonder why we worry about Buffy’s involvement with another vampire,” Giles said softly.

Stopping in the doorway, Spike turned and locked gazes with the Watcher’s. “That wasn’t a demon’s reaction you got there,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “That was a father’s. If it had been the demon’s, you’d be dead.”

He whirled and made a dash for the van, smirking beneath his blanket for getting the last word in. Maybe they’d realize he was serious now; he wasn’t about to let anybody hurt Buffy any more, and he especially wasn’t going to let anyone hurt the baby. If this didn’t prove it to them, he didn’t know what would.

Oz didn’t say a word until they had pulled away from the curb.

“Not that I’m criticizing your methods here,” he said, and his eyes never strayed from the road ahead, “but maybe manhandling Giles isn’t the best way to get him on your side.”

“Wanker was threatening the baby. He got what was comin’ to him.”

Silence.

“You think Buffy’s going to see it that way?”

The simple wording of Oz’s question forced Spike to shake off the rush of adrenaline he’d felt at the small victory over Giles. As he began to imagine how the scene would’ve played out if Buffy had been present, his glee faded, to be replaced with a growing sense of dread as to how she would take the news when her Watcher called to gloat about how he’d been right about Spike.

“There’s a covered walkway that connects Buffy’s dorm with the hall next to it,” Oz observed. “There’s usually a lot of parking spots right near by.”

The casual offer was all the confirmation he needed. “Thanks, mate,” Spike said. Leaning against the interior wall of the van, he closed his eyes as he lost himself in the rhythm of the vehicle against the road. This was going to be a lot harder than just showing up and thinking Buffy was going to let him fall into her life and bed. He needed to start thinking a little quicker, be a little more careful in what he said and did around her friends and family.

But he could still save this.

* * *

Her silence was beginning to weigh on Giles, and he watched her out of the corner of his eye as he finished examining the non-existent bruises on his neck in the mirror. “You’re upset,” he said quietly, and stilled until Joyce looked up to meet his eyes in his reflection.

“I’m…baffled,” she countered. Slowly, she shook her head. “I just don’t understand how you could’ve kept this from me for the past two months. Buffy closing off, I get. She knew how I felt about Angel, so it’s natural that she’d be scared about telling me about Spike. But, you, Rupert? I thought we’d finally come to an agreement about what our roles were, about how we functioned in Buffy’s life. How could you not tell me what happened to her in England?”

Deliberately, he stepped around the wall and into the kitchen, grabbing the kettle to fill it in the sink. “It wasn’t my tale to tell,” he said.

He kept his eyes averted. If he met her gaze, Giles was fairly certain she would see the truth in them for herself.

“That’s bullshit.” He heard her stand and come into the kitchen. “I know for a fact that both Wesley and that Lydia know _everything_ that happened, and I’m fairly certain Buffy didn’t include them in her little show-and-tell circle, which means _you’re_ the reason they know. How could you tell them and not me? I’m her _mother_. I have the right to know.”

“To begin with, I told Lydia nothing. She was involved in the events in London herself so she had it all firsthand. As for Wesley…” Stepping to the cupboard, he took out a clean cup. “He’s going to be working with Willow, and indirectly, with Buffy. I thought it best he be aware.”

“But not me.”

“Why does it sound like you’re angrier with me than you are with Spike?”

“Because Spike was honest with me. I may not be happy about the fact that Buffy’s pregnant, or that it looks like she’s in love with him, or even that the father of my unborn grandchild is a vampire, but at least neither of them chose to keep me in the dark once they learned the truth.”

Taking a deep breath, Giles maintained his silence while he waited for the water to boil, pouring it into the teapot when it did and trying to ignore the guilt Joyce’s words was inducing. “Perhaps I made the wrong decision,” he said carefully. “And for that, I apologize. But I meant what I said to Spike. When the Council discovers that Buffy’s pregnant, things could get very difficult for her. And if they learn the truth of the paternity…”

“What will they do?”

He filled the cup and handed it to Joyce, finally lifting his gaze to hers. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s been over twenty years since they’ve had a Slayer with a child, and Buffy’s circumstances are…unique, to say the least. I fear there are too many variables to make any credible speculation as to their potential actions. But knowing Travers as I do…I _have_ to assume the worst. My only concern is Buffy’s wellbeing, Joyce. You have to believe that.”

Her nod was slow. “All right,” she replied. “I suppose I can understand some of it. But I think you’re wrong about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Buffy’s not giving up on this pregnancy, and from what I can see, Spike’s more than ready to fight for it just as hard as she is. That means it’s not just her you have to be concerned for. It’s the baby, too.”

As she carried her tea back into the living room, she left Giles to stand alone with the warm teapot. Her conclusion was exactly the one he’d been fighting inside his own head ever since hearing Buffy’s announcement about her new condition. In his heart, he’d known that aborting would never be an option for his Slayer, and while he may not be pleased with who the baby’s father was, he couldn’t deny that it had been conceived in love, or that the father-in his original form-was a good and decent man.

It was the current incarnation that frightened Giles.

It was the current incarnation with which he was going to have to contend.

It was the current incarnation whose unpredictability made the next nine months a nightmare to consider.

Prior to his arrival in Sunnydale, Giles had always believed he understood the nature of vampires. Then, Angel had become a part of their lives and he’d been forced to reconsider some of his assumptions, bending them to fit with the soul that changed so much. Some of it had reverted back when Angelus had stripped and slaughtered his swathe through their lives, and Giles had to admit that his animosity toward vampires as a group had swelled to astronomic proportions after Jenny’s death. Not even Angel’s tortured return and subsequent adieu was enough to temper it to any great degree.

Yet, now there was Spike, and all his notions were being choked into re-evaluation again. He didn’t mean the Spike who had terrorized them at Angelus’ side, nor the Spike who had returned for the brief sojourn the previous year.

No, the Spike who gave Giles such a headache was the one who revealed himself in love letters written to a Slayer. The one who traveled across continents in search of a woman he believed held the key to helping the Slayer he adored. The one who renounced his instincts-or seemingly attempted to-in order to not only better the odds that the Slayer would survive just one day longer, but that she would do so and look upon him favorably as well.

This was a Spike he didn’t understand.

Which meant this was a Spike he had to tread lightly with.

He had liked William. He had liked the young man from Anne’s first descriptions, and it had been furthered by his only meeting with him. He’d been impressed by the decorum and respect that pervaded young William’s being, and, under any other circumstances, he would’ve welcomed Buffy’s involvement with such a man.

But William was not Spike.

He couldn’t be.

And it was that last, nebulous straw to which Giles was grasping. Because to let it go was untenable.

* * *

She didn’t know why she couldn’t let it go. Maybe it was because of the unexpectedly harsh response she’d gotten from Giles about the pregnancy. She’d known he would be disappointed, but his nearly violent reaction to Spike being the father had shocked her, almost into silence, and then to hear his arguments after Spike had told his side of the story… Buffy wasn’t sure why he was being so stubborn about it all, especially since he’d been seemingly on her side ever since their return from London.

But it was that one statement of his that hooked the questions firmly inside Buffy’s mind, the reason she’d starting thinking about them in the first place.

_“Angel had a soul.”_

Deep down, she didn’t want Spike any different than he already was. Well, maybe except for not being a vampire but hello, there was no getting away from that particular fact. But neither Joyce nor Giles had had the opportunity to get to know him the way she had, and accepting him at face value when not even a year ago he’d been kidnapping her friends and threatening them with broken bottles was too much for them to stomach. Buffy knew that. It was the only reason she was pondering the question of a souled Spike at all.

Willow was probably right. There was no way to guarantee that Spike would be remotely similar with a soul; she could lose him for good if he did it. And how would he react if she even asked? Would he be hurt about not being good enough the way he was? That had been William’s biggest fear and failing. So many people had denigrated his existence when there was so much good he had to give to them; surely, asking Spike to get a soul just so that her friends and family would accept him more easily was pretty much saying the same thing.

And yet, the niggle remained. She wanted everyone to get along. For her sake, but most importantly, for the baby’s sake. And Willow had all this extra power now. Maybe she could figure out a way to do the souling spell so that it didn’t have the no-happiness clause built in like Angel’s.

She was jostled from her thoughts by a surreptitious poke in the side by said witch. Jerking, Buffy looked up in time to see Dr. Walsh turn back toward the lecture hall as the kids around her started packing up their books. Damn it. She’d zoned out through most of psych class again. She was going to have to stop doing that.

“Before you go,” Dr. Walsh said, and a hush fell across the room, “I have a small announcement to make.” She leaned against the front edge of her desk as her gaze swept over the students. “Some of you may have been awake enough during class to notice that Riley Finn, my teaching assistant, wasn’t here today. Unfortunately, he won’t be returning. Last night, Riley was assaulted on his way home from the library. He died before he was found. There will be a small memorial service at his fraternity on Wednesday for those of you who had the chance to get to know him. As for his position, I’m replacing him with a former student of mine from back East. He starts on Wednesday and I expect all of you to treat him with the utmost respect. Dismissed.”

Buffy and Willow exchanged looks as they rose from their seats, but they held their tongues until they were beyond the walls of the lecture hall. “The library?” Willow asked. “Do they really expect us to believe that?”

“Professor Walsh does,” Buffy replied. “I’m just wondering who Riley was working for that would come up with such a story.”

“Somebody who doesn’t want what he was really doing to get out, obviously.”

Each lost in her thoughts, the girls lapsed into silence until they reached the step of their dorm. “What’re your plans for the rest of the day?” Willow asked.

Buffy glanced at her friend, noting the nervous smile. “I think I’m just going to take it easy,” she said. She didn’t need to elaborate. They both knew it had been a crazy twenty-four hours. “You’re meeting with Giles and Wesley tonight, aren’t you?”

Willow nodded. “The witch from the coven should be in town now. It’ll probably be another big intro-palooza. Which is good, but what I really want is to get to work on the whole controlling the magic thing. After what happened with that vamp attack the other night-.”

“What _did_ happen?”

“Got me. Except I think that somehow I set him on fire. I just don’t know how. That’s what I’m hoping I’m going to be able to figure out.”

They stepped from the stairwell into the hall that led to their room, and Buffy froze as she saw the black-clad figure leaning against the wall next to her door. He was doing everything he could to appear casual, but the way he kept flicking his Zippo open and shut betrayed his nerves.

Willow’s eyes widened at the sight. “Oh,” she breathed, and stepped away from Buffy as if the Slayer needed more physical room to process the arrival. “I’m… just…going to go to the library,” she said. She backed off. “OK?”

Buffy didn’t answer. She was too busy watching as Spike’s head turned to meet her gaze.

* * *

The dingy apartment was dead quiet as Baltozar fell through the front door. Fucking thing stuck every time it closed, and he invariably had to kick it in order to get inside. He would’ve preferring having a real nice place to stay while he and Havi were in Sunnydale, but as they neither knew how long they’d be around nor had a shitload of cash to be throwing about, this was the best they could do.

The ratty curtains were still drawn against the midday sun, and when he crossed to pull them, Baltozar saw a cockroach skitter beneath the sagging cushions of the couch when the deadly sunlight struck the stained carpet. Almost as bad as vampires, he thought, though the sight hardly disgusted him. In his line of work, it was a common one and far down on the list of creepy crawlies that got under his skin. Sometimes, even, just the sight of one almost made him feel like he was at home.

His muscles gleamed with sweat as he strode into the galley kitchen, opening the refrigerator and grabbing the carton of milk from inside. Swigging down the remainder of its contents, he tossed the empty carton on top of the pizza box next to the sink, and noted the faint line of red trailing down the interior of the white fixture. Leaning in, he dabbed at it with a fingertip, bringing it to his nose to sniff before cautiously giving it a quick lick.

Blood.

Havi’s.

He hadn’t noticed it there before he’d gone out for his workout. Then again, he hadn’t come into the kitchen, either.

Slowly, Baltozar crept down the hall to the single bedroom, nudging the door open with a toe in order to better peek inside. Havi was still asleep on the bed, nude, lying on her stomach atop the blankets with her head at the foot of the mattress. They’d flipped for how the sleeping arrangements were going to be, and sleeping backwards on the bed had won over turning it completely around. Because of the piercings in her neck, Havi slept on her stomach, but she couldn’t sleep without being able to see the door when she woke up. It was a survival mechanism for her, ingrained over the years, but if Baltozar didn’t love the girl so much, he would’ve thought the bitch was a real nutcase for needing the odd order.

Silently, he slipped through the crack and stepped to her side. She’d been covered up with the sheet when he left, so he hadn’t seen the various scrapes and scratches that adorned her flesh. What the hell has she been doing? Baltozar wondered. Esme’s questions came haunting back, and his breathing quickened as he began to play out the possibilities.

Maybe the old witch was right. Maybe the Hellmouth held some significance for the Guardians after all. Havi had been driven ever since they’d arrived, and clammed up whenever he pressed. Whatever excursion she’d gone on the previous night had to be a part of that.

Slowly, he peeled off the clothes he’d worn for his run, standing over her with his cock semi-hard and his nerves dancing for release. Reaching down, he slid his hand down her muscled back, past the tattoo on the left cheek of her ass, and cupped the firm flesh with a growing desire for more. Havi grunted in her sleep, her head turning to face him, and she blinked up at him as his other hand began to stroke the side of her exposed breast.

“Stop it,” she mumbled.

“Make me,” he taunted.

His fingers slipped beneath her torso to pinch her nipple, and Havi gasped as the sharp pain pulled her the rest of the way from her slumber. “You’re all sweaty,” she complained, and tried to roll away, but his powerful hands sank into her body and tugged her back.

“I’ll clean up later.”

He ducked when her elbow came flying back, and used the vulnerable arch of her body to yank her against his burgeoning erection. Immediately, Havi’s struggles increased, but he could feel the slickness between her legs when he buried his hand between her thighs, and heard her gasp when his cock slipped between her hot folds.

The mattress squeaked as Baltozar pounded into her from behind, the only sound in the room beyond the slap of their skin until Havi began begging him to let her come. It just drove him harder, and he shouted when his release arrived, his muscles tense and burning as he buried himself in her hot slit. Somehow, his fingers found her clit, and he pinched as he rode out his orgasm, giving her the relief she so desperately sought.

Havi’s scream faded with the sounds of the slowing mattress and she slumped against him, her bare skin just as slick as his now. “Bastard,” she muttered, but her eyes were already drifting closed again.

Baltozar chuckled, and slid out of her, bending to run his tongue over her nape piercings as he rose to his feet. Getting one of the Guardians’ Protectorate as part of his arrangement with Esme was most definitely the highlight of this particular job. He hadn’t really believed when he’d set out to seduce Havi that he’d be able to get her to turn so effectively against the seer she was assigned to safeguard, so he’d been more than a little shocked when it had happened so quickly.

He’d been even more shocked to realize he’d fallen head over heels for her.

He hoped Esme found her fucking Slayer artifacts in this hellhole soon. The quicker he could get Havi out of here and all to himself, the happier he was going to be.


	15. Love Is My Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXLII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike had a few words with Giles, ending in a physical altercation when he learned that Giles wanted Buffy to have an abortion, so he’s gone to see Buffy and explain his side before she hears the story elsewhere…

It was something about his eyes.

She would forever remember the gentle tone of William’s body, would always remember the soft cadences of his voice as they whispered to each other in the grass. And she had seen how the last century had altered those muscles, made him harder, leaner, like he’d been one of those unfinished Michelangelo sculptures finally released from its stone bondage. The accent was different, too, a forced shield behind which he hid the truth of his human existence. The changes were there, like a costume he’d forgotten he wore.

But when Spike turned his head to see Buffy at the end of the hall, when their gazes met and his fingers paused in their nervous manipulation of his lighter, she didn’t see any of that.

Those were William’s eyes. They would always be William’s eyes. And no amount of pretense would ever convince her otherwise.

Her heart was pounding in her throat as she found the use of her feet again, slowly stepping toward him with her books clutched to her chest. She felt like something out of one of those old movies her mom always made her watch, one of those melodramatic romances with way-old men and young girls of dubious talent. This wasn’t the Buffy Summers she knew. Taking a deep breath, she quickened her pace, pulling out her keys as she reached her door.

“I thought you were going back to the hotel,” she said casually as she tried to get the key to go into the lock.

“Change of plans,” Spike replied. His hand disappeared momentarily into his duster pocket, emerging free of the lighter. “I was hoping you and me could have a little talk.”

“You’re not talked out? Guess that makes only one of us then.”

The key wasn’t working. She could get it in, but then it refused to turn, and Buffy’s attempts for nonchalance were quickly vanishing as her frustration rose.

“All that was for your audience,” he said. “What I’m interested in right now is some of that between the two of us. There’s things that need to be said, Buffy.”

“So say them. I’m not stopping you.” The lock, however, was, and her grumbles of annoyance rose in volume as she struggled with it.

Cool fingers wrapped around hers, calming the jiggling to turn the key smoothly against the latch. She couldn’t risk looking at him, the color high on her cheeks, and instead mumbled a quick thank you before pushing the door open.

She was a few feet inside her room when she realized she was alone. Turning, Buffy saw him lounging in the entrance, his head tilted as he watched her expectantly. “Come in, Spike,” she said, without even thinking to consider the consequences. It wasn’t until he’d crossed the threshold and closed the door behind him that she realized just how automatic the invitation into her life had been.

Spike was busy looking anywhere but at her, examining the poster on the back of the door before unerringly going to her side of the room. He didn’t touch anything, but instead let his hand skim over the surfaces, as if the near contact was all he needed to assure himself that it was hers.

“Did Oz show you where I live now?” she asked, desperate to break the quiet that had settled between them.

“All he did was drive me here,” Spike replied. He was standing next to her bed, his head tilted as he tried to peer underneath it. “I’ve had your address etched on my brain for weeks now, remember?”

“Oh. Right.” Dumb Buffy, she scolded. But her thoughts were scattering in his presence, all the theories and all the what-ifs she’d been playing out in her head since leaving Giles’ returning to confuse her into submission.

All of a sudden, Spike bent to pull out the chest she kept beneath her bed, flicking the latch and opening it before she could breathe.

“What’re you doing?” Buffy demanded, grateful for the distraction. “Does the term ‘personal property’ mean nothing to you?”

He didn’t reply, but instead pushed the weapons aside to extract the topmost shoebox. She wanted to stop him---really, she did---but it was playing out in excruciating torment before her. The way he pulled up the corner of the lid. The slight hesitation as a sudden scent made him inhale deeply. The tremble of a finger when he cast the lid aside to peer into the well-ordered contents.

“Always wondered what you did with them,” Spike murmured. His fingers skated over the harsh ridges of the envelopes, as if he was taking inventory. “I thought…wanted to think that you’d keep ‘em like this, but…”

“Yeah, well, now you know.” She crouched at his side to take them away, but froze when their hands met on the letters. His fingers weren’t the only ones that were shaking, she realized.

“Did you like them?”

Just as he couldn’t look at her as he asked, she couldn’t look at him while she answered.

“I loved them.”

Slowly, Spike put the box back into the chest, and then entwined her fingers in his, tugging gently as he straightened again. Stumbling slightly, Buffy caught herself with the wall of his chest, memories of the previous night asleep in his arms and before in the shower suffusing her skin with heat.

“What…what did you want to talk about?” she managed to say.

“’Bout what happened at Rupert’s.” When he released his grip on her, she almost complained at the loss of contact, but then watched as he shrugged off his coat and draped it over the end of the bed. “We had a few words after you scarpered off.”

“Well, as long as none of those words were ‘I’m going to kill you,’ I don’t see what the big is.” She was joking but the way he ducked his head told her that maybe it wasn’t such a joke after all. “Spike! What did you do?”

The sharp tone of her voice jerked his head up. “Why is this _my_ fault?” he demanded. “Why not ask what _he_ did?” His lips curled into a sneer, his eyes narrowing in growing anger. “Oh, that’s right. Because he’s your Watcher and I’m just the unfortunate vamp who loves you. Wait, mustn’t forget bein’ the father of your baby, too, though considering you could barely say two words to me, let alone look me in the eye when we were there, I’m beginning to think that doesn’t mean two licks to you in the grand scheme of things.”

“You weren’t even supposed to be there. Willow should never have interfered. I told her---.”

“I know what you told her. You were wrong.”

Blue flashed with glints of amber as he squared off with her, danger seeping from his pores. Buffy’s Slayer senses kicked into overdrive, and she had to fight not to pull her fist back and wipe that self-righteous fury off his face. “What. Happened,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I found out what he said to you about gettin’ rid of the baby,” Spike bit back. “What do you think happened?”

Her mouth opened in sharp retort, but then the memory of how vehement he’d gotten the night before when the issue of abortion had come up made her hesitate. “Giles is just worried about me,” she said. “He just wants me to consider all the options.”

“Bollocks. He’s pissin’ his pants, worrying ‘bout how his precious Council’s goin’ to react to their Slayer gettin’ herself knocked up. By a vampire, no less. They haven’t changed, Buffy. They’re still hellbent on bein’ the masters of their domain, and their domain is _you_. And by the way, since when are you back under their control? I thought you’d had your fill of them this summer.”

“What? Who said I was under their control?”

“Rupert. Said he was still in their employ, as well. That true?”

“Well, yes---.”

“Didn’t you learn anything from that wanker, Richard? If memory serves, you had the stones to walk out on him when he tried tellin’ you not to see me. Where are those stones now?”

“Those stones are the reason I was there in the first place. Do you think it was easy for me to tell my mom and Giles about this baby? But I did it. Because…because, this _means_ something to me, Spike.”

All of a sudden, his hands were cupping her face, and her words were choked in her throat as his lips crashed to hers. The kiss was urgent, probing, and over all too quickly, leaving Buffy breathless and staring at Spike as if he’d been possessed.

“That’s what happened,” he said, his voice husky. His eyes were dark, almost black, devouring her as his thumbs stroked her cheeks. “Told him this was your baby, your decision, and that he’d have to go through me first if he thought he was goin’ to change that. That’s all, luv. Nothin’ more.”

“Then why did you have to come and tell me now about it?” She knew there was more; she even had a feeling what it was. She just needed him to be the one to say it. “If it was so innocent, why are you here?”

His eyes ducked guiltily. “Does it matter?”

Determined, Buffy reached up and removed his hands from her face, stepping back so that it forced him to look at her. “If you have to ask that, this is the least of what we’re going to have to discuss, Spike.”

She saw him eye the door ever so briefly, and panicked in that split second when she thought he was going to walk out. And then…

“He’s not hurt, which is what matters, right? I just…I saw red when I heard what he’d said to you. I might’ve shook him up a bit.” Stiffening, Spike raised a warning finger at Buffy. “But I backed off, got it? I let him go, and I walked away. I did everything right, and don’t you try and tell me I didn’t.”

“So, this is damage control? Is that it? You think you can show up at my door, with the William eyes and the incredible kissage, and you think that’s going to make it all better?”

“That’s not---.” He stopped, his head tilting as a single brow lifted. “Incredible, huh?”

Collapsing onto her bed, Buffy squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to gain some sense of balance again. “That is _so_ not what this is about.”

Her world shifted as she felt his weight settle at her side, evening out when he laid down next to her. Though he made no direct move to touch her, Buffy was all too aware of the nearness of his flesh, the scent that emanated from his skin. It was oddly soothing, and she found herself breathing it in deep inhalations,

“Why’d you skip out of there?” Spike asked. His voice was soft, halting, but when she opened her eyes to look at him, he wasn’t even watching her. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the ceiling overhead, the muscles in his face tight.

“I just…needed some space,” she said, just as quietly. “Plus, you know, there is that college thing I’m trying out.”

“You mad I showed?”

She actually had to stop and consider that one. “No,” Buffy finally said. “I think…I think it helped. Having you there.” She paused. There was more she wanted to tell him, more she thought he should hear, but saying it out loud would be confirming her belief that he was just as much William as anything else, that the fact that he was a vamp now didn’t matter to her.

But did it? Would she have gone with him so willingly last night if it did? And what about the issue with his soul? The more time she spent with Spike, the more convinced she got that he didn’t need it, even if it would make things easier for her mom and Giles to accept. Except…her mom hadn’t really liked Angel either way, not really, so would a soul on Spike make a difference?

She thought not. Willow thought not. The decision was made then. She wouldn’t bring it up.

Which made saying the next just a little bit easier.

“I’m stronger when you’re there,” Buffy whispered.

She was still watching him as she said it, and slowly, Spike’s head turned to meet her gaze. There was no mirth in his eyes, no sardonic twist of his mouth. The blue gleamed with gratitude, perhaps an unshed tear or two. And he waited, as if he knew she wasn’t done speaking yet.

“Mark this day on your calendar,” she said. “But…I was wrong. I thought…I forgot for a minute that this baby wasn’t just mine. I thought I could deal with telling everyone on my own. But, when you showed up, and you started telling them about what happened, about…everything, you reminded me of the best thing I got from this summer. When you’re around, I remember what I can do, I remember what I deserve, and things just get _clearer_ , for some reason. When I left, it wasn’t to get away from you. It was to get away from everybody. It’s been a pretty dramatic twenty-four hours, don’t you think?”

“You don’t ever have to run from me, Buffy,” Spike said solemnly.

“I know.”

“And you know they’re all safe, don’t you?” he continued. “As long as none of them hurt you or the baby, you know I’d never do anything to your mum or your friends, right?”

The corner of her mouth lifted. “I’m beginning to get that idea.”

The mattress dipped as he rolled onto his side to face her, his right hand propping his head up. “So, what happens next? What is it you want me to do?”

“I’m not your keeper, Spike. Some of this, you’re going to have to figure out on your own.”

“What about…sussing out where exactly we stand?”

Her mouth went dry. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you know why I’m here. I haven’t made any secret ‘bout wanting to keep my promise to you. And that’s extra-firm now that there’s a little one involved. But, you said last night and then again in your note this morning about us bein’ friends.” He paused, his lashes lowering as he suddenly seemed fascinated by the threads in her comforter. “Is that how you’re seein’ us? It’s not that I’m askin’ for more here, but a bloke’s gotta know. It just…makes expectations a tad easier to deal with if I do.”

“We _are_ friends. Having a baby isn’t going to change that.”

“Oh. ‘Course not. Didn’t think it would.” But there was a definite sag in his shoulders when he made the assertion, and Spike still refused to meet her eyes.

She did what she’d been wanting to, ever since seeing him in the hall.

Slowly, Buffy leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. The kiss was chaste, and tender, a promise of young summers and younger love. Though it was the direct opposite of the passionate hunger he’d displayed in their earlier caress, it carried with it emotions that ran just as deep.

They were both trembling when they finally parted.

“I’d be lying to you if I said I didn’t have expectations, too,” Buffy confessed. “But I need time to process all this. It’s so much, and so fast, and I’ve never been big with the thinking, remember? All I know right now is that I’m glad you’re here. I _want_ you here, Spike. I need you.”

He wanted to hear more. She knew that; she even had a good idea what it was that would settle those frown lines once and for all. Frankly, she’d been surprised when he hadn’t bragged about her loving him when they were at Giles’. But he hadn’t, and she suspected that in spite of his smug declarations in the bathroom the previous night, Spike was still unsure _what_ her feelings were. But she just wasn’t ready to take that extra step right now. Not with everything. Not with the news about the baby.

She hoped that what she could give him was enough for now.

“We’re more than friends, you know,” Buffy said when she felt him start to pull away.

“Because of the baby,” Spike murmured.

“No, because of this summer.” She inched her body toward his until their torsos were touching, and his arm came automatically around her waist to draw her closer. “Because of what we have.”

Her use of the present tense captured his attention, and his stormy eyes lifted back to hers. “So, what I did---.”

“---is still under consideration,” Buffy finished, but her lips were soft in a smile as she did so. “I know you don’t like him, but Giles is still a huge part of my life. You two are going to have to learn to play nice.”

“It’s not that I don’t like Rupert,” Spike argued. “For what he is, I like him just fine. What bugs me is his messin’ with what isn’t his business.”

“Protecting me from the Council _is_ his business.”

“Then he better find a way of doin’ it that won’t hurt you or the baby. That’s all I have to say.”

“As long as we don’t have a repeat of this morning, I’ll be good.” She groaned as the sudden realization hit her, grimacing in distaste. “Except we’re going to have at least one curtain call, because I still have to tell Xander. That’s so not going to be of the fun.”

Spike brightened. “Here’s an idea,” he said. “Let me show up at his door with a box of cigars. Think that’ll get the message across quick enough.”

“Um…no. I think this might be one I really do have to handle without you. Xander and vamps…not exactly the best history there. And I mean it, Spike. No surprise entrances this time.”

“Do me a favor, then?”

“What?”

“Make sure you’ve got either Red or Oz with you when you tell him. Be nice to have a bit of a voice in this, even if I can’t show my face until after.”

Buffy nodded. “That’s good. Xander’s soft spot has always been Willow, and Oz has that whole calming effect going for him. It will help.”

His thumb began making lazy circles where it made brief contact with the skin exposed at her waistband. “You’re not goin’ to run off and do this now, are you?” he asked.

“Can’t. The homework monster awaits to be slain.” Pause. “You can stay and help, if you want. It’s just psych stuff, and probably boring as hell---.”

“Love to, pet.” His lips brushed across her temple. “Thanks for asking.”

* * *

During most of the…well, Wesley could only call it a presentation, really. A performance on the part of Buffy and Spike as they confessed the depths of what had actually happened that summer. It was riveting to watch, even if Spike _had_ dismissed him as being superfluous and unimportant to the proceedings. In truth, he was. He hadn’t been there in London as Lydia had, and he had no emotional connection with Buffy other than as her former Watcher. Still, it didn’t stop his questions regarding the magic that had been used during the entire escapade, and it didn’t stop him from stepping forward once Mrs. Summers was gone. It was really too remarkable not to get involved.

“It won’t be some hybrid child, do you think?” he asked, as he watched Giles put a fresh pot of water on to boil.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Giles scolded. “William was just as human as Buffy was when this child was conceived. It’ll be perfectly normal.”

“Well, as normal as can be expected for a child with a Slayer mother and a vampire father,” Lydia observed from kitchen entrance. “Buffy certainly is rather insistent on providing more fodder for the Council’s annals, don’t you think?”

“They won’t find out,” Giles said tightly. His knuckles were white as he gripped the kettle. “I plan on keeping them in the dark on this for as long as it’s conceivably possible. Which means, neither of you are to say a word to them or to anyone back in England about any of what you heard this morning. If I find out you have, I’ll…I’ll tell Spike.”

Wesley gulped, remembering the vicious snarl on the vampire’s face when he’d pinned Rupert to the wall. As furious and dangerous as Giles could be, there was no doubt that Spike would be doubly brutal. It was the most frightening threat Giles could use in their current situation.

“Do you think she’ll abandon her studies?” he asked, desperate to divert the conversation from the subject of the Council.

For a moment, Giles frowned. It was obvious he was doing the calculation in his head, and finally shook his head. “She shouldn’t be due until the spring. There’s no reason for her to not complete this term.”

“Mrs. Summers seems as if she’ll be supportive of Buffy,” Lydia observed. “And William will likely insist on taking over her patrolling duties---.”

“You can’t be serious,” Giles said.

“Of course, I am. You saw him, Rupert. He’s utterly devoted to her. Just as he was with Drusilla. It’s William’s nature to protect those he loves, and if you doubt the veracity of his feelings for your Slayer, then perhaps you aren’t as alert to this situation as you’d like us to believe.”

“I do wish you’d stop calling him that.”

“What? William?”

“Yes.”

“It’s his name.”

“His name is Spike. Calling him William is…a travesty.”

“You saw his letters, Rupert. He even signed those as William. Spike is just the name he chose when he attempted to remake himself as a vampire.”

Before the conversation could degenerate into another argument, Wesley cleared his throat. “Regardless of what we choose to call him,” he said, “shouldn’t we be concerned with how this might impact our efforts here on the Hellmouth? For instance, how on earth are we going to keep this from Esme? She’s going to be working directly with Willow. It’s inevitable she’ll have contact with Buffy, and if she does, she’s very likely to tell Mr. Travers. Anything to incur favor with him, I’d imagine.”

Lydia frowned. “Esme never struck me as the sort to kowtow to Mr. Travers,” she said.

“Things have changed since she lost her powers,” Wesley said. “She has no choice now but to yield to his superiority.”

“We’ll have to tell Mr. Travers that Willow refuses to work with her then,” Giles replied.

“He’ll only send another from the coven. And the next one he sends will have full use of her powers. She’ll be able to divine the truth more easily than Esme.”

“Wesley’s right,” Lydia said. “Esme is the least dangerous to both Buffy and Willow at this point. We’ll have to sever her contact with the Council. It’s the only solution.”

Both men looked at her quizzically. “ _We_?” Giles asked.

She lifted her chin. “If you think I’m returning to London now, you’re quite mistaken. I’m involved in this as much as either of you. My expertise will be a valuable resource for you.”

“Then perhaps you should be the one assigned to control Esme,” Wesley said. “We’ll convince Willow as to the efficacy of having Esme here, and you can become her bodyguard, so to speak.”

“That works well,” Giles said, interrupting when Lydia opened her mouth to speak. “That leaves Spike for you, Wesley.”

“Pardon?”

Giles began pouring out the tea. “Clearly, Spike intends to stay in Sunnydale, and it’s highly unlikely he’ll continue on in the hotel. It’s also unlikely that Buffy will be able to stay away from him, as egregious as that might seem. If Spike were to be ensconced somewhere… _civilized_ , it would both give us the opportunity to keep an eye on him should he err in some way and provide a safe haven for Buffy to see him. Under your supervision, of course.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You want me to get a flat. Here in Sunnydale. With William the Bloody?”

“Well, yes. Was I not clear on that?”

“That’s ludicrous. For one thing, I sincerely doubt Spike would agree to such an arrangement---.”

“Actually, I think he would.” Lydia blew across the top of her steaming tea, oblivious to his discomfiture. “William seems quite determined to prove himself to Mrs. Summers. I think if he was approached correctly, he might see this as a chance for him to establish his sincerity regarding his feelings for Buffy and the baby.”

“By living with me.” How could either of them see any logic in this scenario? It seemed like utter nonsense to Wesley.

“We can always trade,” Lydia said. “You harbor Esme while I continue on with William.”

Giles shook his head. “I might not like Buffy’s feelings for Spike, but I’m not so foolish to endorse _that_ arrangement,” he said. “Buffy hates you, Lydia, and Spike took the first opening he had to leave you behind. Suggesting you cohabitate with him is tantamount to suicide. For all of us.”

“But---.”

“That settles it then,” Giles continued. “Lydia will watch Esme, while Wesley watches Spike, and we do what we must to protect Buffy from the Council.” He sighed, his face suddenly weary, and set down his cup. “I find myself in need of something much stronger than tea,” he said, exiting the kitchen and heading toward his liquor cabinet.

“Make that two,” Wesley said automatically.

This entire plan was completely mad. How had he thought coming to Sunnydale to help Willow would help him atone for his errors the previous year? He should’ve remembered how Gordian the Hellmouth made its inhabitants. And now he was one of them, and he would soon be living with one of the most notorious vampires in recent history, and using every means to foil the Council yet again.

Wesley wilted. “And make mine a double.”

* * *

There was a private waiting for her as soon as she stepped from the elevator. “The report you requested from Riley Finn’s comms last night,” he said, handing over a manila folder.

“Thank you,” Maggie replied, and dismissed him as she opened it up to read. It wasn’t long, primarily a transcript from the brief logs Finn had recorded prior to being killed, but one detail immediately stood out from the rest.

The werewolf hadn’t been alone. Finn’s body was found separate from the others because he’d been attempting to convince the girl who was with the HST to vacate the premises.

That meant Riley knew her. She had to be a student.

It couldn’t be Buffy Summers. Riley and his team had been killed by vampires. If the Slayer had been present, she would never have allowed such an event to occur.

But the werewolf was a friend of the Slayer’s, though she was likely unaware of his demon existence or else he’d be dead by now. It was conceivable the mysterious girlfriend of the werewolf was a friend as well.

Mid-step, Maggie smiled.

She knew who the werewolf was.

And tonight was the first night of the full moon. She could get the HST after all.

And perhaps…a small taste of vengeance.


	16. When Clouds Do Blot the Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XXVIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy and Spike have talked some more, Maggie has decided she knows who the werewolf is, and Giles has decided to have Spike room with Wesley and Esme with Lydia in order to make it easier to keep track of them…

Oz always seemed edgier on full moon days, a crispness to his movements that barely hinted at the restlessness laying siege to his flesh. Even now, just lying sprawled on his bed reading one of his textbooks, Willow could see the telltale signs---the tense poise of his fingers as they hovered to turn a page, the deliberate inhalations of his chest. The time was nearing, and it was impossible for his body to deny it.

“You know I wish I could be there, right?” she said, shattering the quiet.

He gave her a small smile when he turned to meet her eyes. “I know.”

But after he resumed his studying, her certitude returned, and Willow shook her head. “That’s it,” she declared, putting aside her own text to reach for the phone he had on his nightstand. “I’m going to call Giles and tell him we’ll meet up tomorrow instead.”

His hand on hers prevented her from picking up the receiver. “I’m going to be _fine_ ,” Oz stressed. “Xander’s going to meet me at the cage, so there’s no reason for you to cancel.”

She chewed at her lip. “You’re not worried about more of those vigilantes showing up again?”

“Why should they? It’s not like they know who I am.” Tugging at her hand, he pulled her onto the bed, pushing aside his book so that she could lie down next to him. “You’re not worried about me,” he said quietly. “You’re worried about Buffy. Want to talk about it?”

Her lashes drooped in deference to his astute observation. She had been hiding out with Oz ever since leaving Buffy at the dorm with Spike, and not knowing what was going on was eating at her. “It’s not that I’m worried,” Willow said. “I mean, I am, but Spike’s not going to hurt Buffy if he can help it. It’s just…she wasn’t too glad I took Spike over to Giles’.”

“You did the right thing. Spike needed to be there.”

“You think so?”

Oz nodded. “He’s taking this baby pretty seriously, which is weird in a Vampire Knows Best kind of way. But Buffy needs all the support she can get right now, and that means Spike has to be part of the picture.”

“I never figured you’d be so gung ho about him,” Willow admitted. The memory of how it had been Spike who’d been the catalyst for their break-up the previous year was all too sharp when she saw the two of them together. She wouldn’t voice that, though. The ghosts of those days lived strongly enough with them already.

“Let’s just say I’m keeping an open mind on the subject.”

“Too bad Xander probably won’t. He’s going to wig big time when he finds everything out. I know Buffy didn’t want to get it to this point, but I don’t think he’s going to buy the freshman forty excuse once she starts showing.”

“You never know. He might surprise you. Spike did.”

Smiling, Willow rested her head on his arm, relishing in the soft whisper of his fingertips over her cheek. “How’d you get to be so smart?” she teased.

“Pez.” Leaning in, he gave her a quick kiss before sitting up. “C’mon. If we leave now, I’ve got time to drop you off at Giles’ before I go out to the cage.”

“Swapping the ball for the chain, huh?” she said with a smile.

His hand was comforting where it settled in the small of her back. “Just promise me you’ll tell Giles and Wesley everything that’s been going on. They can’t help you if you hold back on them.”

“I promise.”

The words were automatic, but as they came from her lips, Willow wondered just how much she actually would reveal to the Watchers. Part of her was terrified by the powers that seemed to be burgeoning beyond her control---the incident with the vampire in the graveyard was more than alarming, just on its own---but part of her was kind of thrilled with the newfound strength it gave her. The lengths she could go to if she could just learn how to harness what she’d been given…the possibilities were astronomical.

Scary, but huge.

Like her whole life ever since Buffy had come to the Hellmouth.

* * *

Her head fell forward onto the desk, her eyes closed against the encroaching pain that was settling between her temples. “Tell me again why higher learning is such a good thing?” Buffy complained.

“Because it gets Rupert off your back about livin’ up to your full potential,” Spike replied.

She groaned out loud when his nimble fingers began massaging the base of her neck, spreading with molten ease to her stiff shoulders. “Ohhh…” she breathed. “More of that.”

A delicious languor seeped into her muscles with every firm caress, driving away memory of the words that had been swimming before her eyes. Until she’d stopped, Spike had remained a respectful distance, lounging on the bed while she worked at the desk. It had surprised Buffy, but she didn’t question it, taking the gift of his aid as further indication of his desire to find his place in her life. With her back to Spike, she had quickly slipped back into the rhythms of her weeks with William, yet even when he slipped in some classic Spike-ism, it didn’t jar. This was becoming far too simple to accept.

The tips of his fingers skimmed the sides of her breasts as he worked his way down her sides, and her body’s instant flushed reaction made her want to whirl around in her chair and straddle him then and there. When his cool lips pressed to her nape, her resolve to keep this thing between them slow and simple dissipated even further, and she had to grab on to the edge of her desk in order not to sink them into his curls.

“When’s Red comin’ back?” he whispered.

The breath from his words ruffled the tiny hairs on her neck, and Buffy involuntarily shivered. “Later,” she whispered. “She’s meeting with Giles and Wesley about the magic thing.”

“So…it’s just us, all on our lonesome? And you with your homework done. Whatever shall we do?”

His hands slithered forward, cupping her breasts, his fingers finding the hard peaks of her nipples through her blouse and pinching just hard enough to make her gasp. “Stop,” Buffy protested.

“Make me.”

When his palm slid down to hover over her waist, her breath hitched in her throat, waiting for him to go even lower. He didn’t, though. Instead, his touch sneaked beneath the fabric of her top, settling along her skin, stroking the smallest of circles against the muscles of her stomach. It seemed to be his new favorite spot on her body.

“Stop,” she said more forcefully. Taking his hand in hers, Buffy straightened and stood, leaning against the edge of the desk as she met his eyes. “We can’t be doing this every time we’re together.”

Spike tilted his head. “We’ve been together a grand total of three times since I blew into Sunnyhell,” he commented. “And two of those times have been spent either talkin’ or studying. Hardly constitutes _every_ time, pet.” With his free hand, he reached to caress the pounding of her pulse in her throat. “’Sides, it’s not like you don’t want it.”

“So not the point.”

“You got a better suggestion, then?”

She nodded. “I’m thinking food. I don’t know about you, but I’m starved. I haven’t eaten since my not-really-a-breakfast.”

He cast a look at the sunlight that was still visible around the edges of the drawn curtains. “Only problem with that is I’m not goin’ anywhere for another hour or two.”

“So, I’ll go.” This gave her renewed purpose, and Buffy bustled to get ready to go out. “Did you get around to the butcher yet, or do you need me to get some for you?”

“No, not---.”

“So, I’ll get enough for you for a couple days. At least until we get you settled.”

His hand on her shoulder stopped her from opening the door. “You’re running again,” Spike commented.

“No, I’m getting dinner,” she said. “Eating for two now, remember? A girl’s got to take care of herself.”

“Looks like tryin’ to avoid me from this angle.”

The doubt in his voice made her soften. “You have to eat. _I_ have to eat. If I was trying to avoid you, I wouldn’t have let you stay in the first place.”

“You’re comin’ back?”

“Where else would I go, Spike? Everything I have is right here.” Impulsively, she stretched to kiss him lightly. “That means you, too.”

The look of grateful amazement in his eyes made her smile as she turned to grab her purse. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour. If you get bored, you can always start my poetry paper. It’s not due for another two weeks, but considering you’ve had a hundred years more reading experience than I do, it should be a piece of cake for you.”

She left him standing there speechless, and couldn’t help grinning all the way down the hallway. It probably wouldn’t be often he’d let her get in the last word, and be dumbfounded to boot; Buffy was going to enjoy this one for as long as she could.

* * *

Even if it was just with Wesley and Giles, this was very much not what Willow considered a night of fun and frolicking. Sitting on Giles’ couch, she folded and unfolded her hands in her lap nearly a dozen times while she waited for him to come out of the kitchen with the tray of drinks. For some reason, he’d insisted on making a pot of tea when she’d arrived just a few minutes earlier; Willow suspected that having Wesley and now Lydia around was bringing out even more of the British in him.

Nobody said a word until they were all seated, and Giles had poured out three cups and passed them around. “How was your day?” he asked, all politeness.

Willow frowned. Something was very off about this. Not only was Wesley having problems meeting her eyes, but this too-controlled gentility from Giles was way off considering the events of just that morning.

“You should know,” she replied. “You were there for the exciting part.”

Giles nodded as if that was just what he’d expected her to say. “Is Buffy all right? I haven’t heard from her since she…since she left.”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” She wasn’t going to bring up the fact that she’d left Buffy with Spike. Willow figured she’d done enough already that day by showing up with Spike in the first place.

“And you?” Wesley was leaning forward, blue eyes bright as they peered at her through his glasses. “How are _you_ doing?”

“Fine.” Her frown deepened. “OK, what’s going on? Not that I don’t appreciate the concern, but I’m not the one who announced she was pregnant with a vampire’s baby today. I think that puts me pretty low on who should be worried about who here.”

The two Watchers exchanged a long look before Giles cleared his throat. “I’ve met with the witch the Council has sent to advise you on how to deal with this new magic, Willow,” he said. He was picking his words carefully, a tempered pace to his speech that always betrayed his truer intents. “She’s here in Sunnydale now, in fact.”

“Then, why isn’t she meeting with us tonight?”

“Frankly, because we wanted to speak with you first,” Wesley interjected.

“Why?”

“Because the Council sent Esme,” Giles said. “Travers seems to believe she is the one best equipped to help you with this.”

It wasn’t what she expected to hear. All of a sudden, Willow’s throat was dry, memories of how she’d felt when Esme’s magic had been pumped into her thrumming through her body with the liquid burn of a raging fire. “But…but…she _hates_ me,” she managed to say. “I don’t…get…”

“First of all, she doesn’t hate you. She hates that she lost her powers, yes, but you had nothing to do with that.”

“Are you kidding? I had _everything_ to do with it.”

Wesley shook his head. “You were just the vessel for Rose’s intervention,” he said. “Esme understands that.”

“And so she’s here to get them back? Have you forgotten what she did when she had them the first time? Buffy sure as heck hasn’t, and I’m pretty sure you can put Spike on that list, too.”

She had risen to her feet midway through speaking, her tea sitting forgotten on the coffee table. Opposite, Wesley rose as well, and he placed his hands firmly on her shoulders to force her to look at him.

“It’s not like that,” he insisted. “Giles and I have spoken extensively with her about her intent in getting involved. If we thought there was any reason to be suspicious, we wouldn’t be putting you in this position in the first place.”

“In this…?” She turned shocked eyes to Giles. “You don’t really expect me to go along with this, do you? How can you possibly think this is a good idea?”

“Sit down, Willow.” The restraint was gone from his voice, his tone commanding. “All we ask is that you hear us out. I think if you understand the full ramifications in having Esme as your mentor as we deal with these changes, you just might change your mind.”

She sat. She had no other choice. It seemed pretty clear that Giles had already made up _his_ mind about this. She just wondered how long they would take to try and convince her of the same.

* * *

After parking behind Oz’s van along the street, Xander ambled through the trees toward his friend’s monthly hideaway, his stack of comic books tucked beneath his arm. Werewolf duty wasn’t necessarily his sport of choice, but Oz had made it clear how important Willow’s meeting was with the Watchers. With the vigilantes showing up all over town, he preferred being safe than sorry, and wanted someone to keep an eye out when he couldn’t. For his friend’s sake, it was a responsibility Xander was more than willing to shoulder in Willow’s absence, and he had the night’s entertainment to help it go even faster.

It wasn’t dark yet, though the sun was very low on the horizon. In the thick of the forest, long shadows cast across his path made Xander quicken his pace. He had a stake in his back pocket, but he wasn’t stupid. The faster he got to the Oz’s little hideaway, the safer Xander was going to feel.

The dull roar of an engine permeated the close air, drifting from somewhere ahead of him, and his step faltered. It was hard for a vehicle to get back here---it was one reason why Oz parked on the street---but it _was_ possible if someone was determined and didn’t care about going over some rough terrain. The why of it, however, was another matter completely. There was absolutely nothing of interest in the forest; that was one reason why Oz had chosen it. If anything, _Oz_ was its sole attraction---.

Xander broke into a run. He didn’t really believe it _could_ be, but he wasn’t about to drag his feet in case he was wrong.

Twenty feet away, he skidded to a halt. Tire treads smashed down the undergrowth, and if he squinted, he could see the glint off black metal disappearing in the distance. His gaze slid to the entrance. Gaping open like a black maw, it taunted him with an ever-increasing sense of dread as he stepped closer.

“Oz?” he called out as he stepped from the gloom into the near-black of the hideaway.

Silence echoed back at him. It was empty.

Taking another step, Xander felt a crunch under his heel, and lifted his foot to see a triangular piece of plastic poking up from the dirt. He leaned down and picked it up, his skin going cold when he recognized the Star Wars guitar pick Willow had given Oz for graduation. The dirt was scuffled, and there were the distinct markings from several sets of feet. Man-sized feet.

Vigilante feet.

As he turned and ran back for his car, only one thought was cutting through Xander’s panic about the missing Oz.

_Get Buffy._

* * *

Their ardor in pitching Esme as her mentor was commendable; by the time Giles and Wesley stopped talking, Willow would’ve likely said yes to about anything they might have suggested when it came the witch.

Except for one thing.

“Have you forgotten she brought April back because she needed a Slayer for whatever it was she had planned?” she asked Giles. She didn’t bother addressing the question to Wesley; he hadn’t been around in London when everything had gone down so it was pointless to remind him. “How can you trust her anywhere near Buffy after that?”

“She won’t be working with Buffy,” Wesley started, but was cut off by Giles’ upturned hand.

“Because I’d prefer to put my faith in an ill-intentioned, powerless witch, than I would Quentin Travers,” Giles said quietly.

“Rupert---.”

“Shut up, Wesley. We were foolish to consider she would agree without all the facts.”

Willow sat and listened as Giles told of their fears for Buffy, how pregnant Slayers were treated by the Council, how those who actually bore their children subsequently found themselves bereft of many of the Council’s resources. As he explained his wishes to protect Buffy, she began to understand why he’d been so vociferous in pitching Esme in the first place. Caught between a rock and a hard place, Giles was doing his best not to have Buffy get smashed flat.

“Buffy’s not going to like it,” she said when he was done. “And I think Spike might get a little cranky if he finds out, too.”

“Yes, we’re aware of that,” Giles said. “But tell me which would be worse. Buffy being slightly disgruntled or Buffy being dead?”

Her eyes widened. “They would really kill her? After everything she’s done for them?”

“The issue is, we’re not sure _what_ they would do to her. But yes, I think that might be an option they’d consider, especially if they were to discover Spike is the father.”

“There’s also the possibility that they’d wish to study her,” Wesley suggested. “To my knowledge, no Slayer has ever been impregnated by a vampire before---.”

“For the last time,” Giles snapped, his head jerking to level a glare at the other Watcher, “he was not a vampire when the child was conceived!”

“The Council won’t _care_ ,” came the rejoinder. “They’re going to see the baby, and they’re going to see Spike protecting that baby, and they’re only going to be interested in trying to understand both of them.”

“OK, time out,” Willow said. “I get the picture. Council finding out equals bad. But how are you going to keep Buffy and Spike from wanting to get rid of Esme? Their grudge is more than a little personal, and if you don’t want them to end up getting physical, you’re going to have to tell them _something_.”

The two men exchanged a long look before returning their attention back to her. “I’ve already expressed my concern about the Council’s interference to Spike,” Giles said carefully. “If he were to be convinced that Esme’s wellbeing is in Buffy’s best interest, I believe that Buffy would follow his example and leave her alone for the duration of her stay.”

“But how?” She couldn’t help her jaw dropping as it dawned on her what they were asking. “No,” she said, shaking her head. “No, no, and no. First of all, he’ll _never_ listen to me. And secondly, have you seen how scary he can be? Broken bottle in the face, remember?”

“You didn’t seem so frightened of him when you brought him here to interrupt Buffy’s announcement this morning,” Wesley observed.

“And you worked quite extensively with him in London,” Giles said.

“Under _duress_. He thought he was getting Dru back.”

“You wouldn’t have gone to him this morning if you thought him to be dangerous, Willow. It’s pointless for you to try and make us believe you’re truly afraid of Spike when your actions contradict that very notion.”

She pressed her lips together. “I still don’t think he’ll listen to me,” she said.

“You’re the best choice we have. This is about protecting Buffy, Willow. This is about protecting the _baby_.”

_Dirty pool_ , she wanted to say. _What happened to this being about helping me control the magic?_

But she didn’t get a chance to say anything before a knock at the door diverted their attention. Rising from his seat, Giles rose to answer it, leaving Willow trying to digest this new information.

“Are you Rupert Giles?”

Her head whirled at the familiar accent, and Willow saw the tall woman she’d encountered in the courtyard the previous day standing in the doorway. All thought of Esme fled as the odd conversation she’d had with the stranger was brought back to the fore, and she straightened in order to better see what was going to transpire.

“Yes,” Giles replied. “May I help you?”

Reaching into the bag that hung at her side, she extracted a small box and held it out to him, remaining silent as he took it with a frown. Willow’s view was blocked by his shoulder when he opened it, but she didn’t need to know what was in it to witness his reaction.

“Where did you get this?” he demanded.

“From my employer,” the woman said. “Upon her death, I was instructed to bring it to you.”

“Why? Who are you? And who in blazes did you work for? This is _Council_ property. Only Watchers are given these.”

Mention of the Council made Wesley rise and move closer to the pair at the door. The direct addition of the second man made her bristle, dark eyes darting between the two like a cornered animal, but the arrival held her ground.

“My name is Havi Aronowicz. And my employer was married to a Watcher prior to his death. You never met him, but I was told you were acquainted with his wife.” She held herself even straighter, eyes level with his. “I am part of the Protectorate for the Guardians. Until a few days ago, I worked to guard the seer, Rose Rhodes-Fanshaw.”

* * *

The sun was low enough that he could get out and look for the Slayer without any negative consequence. She had been gone for almost two hours, and it had dawned on Spike after she’d left that he hadn’t given her any dosh to help pay for his blood. He should’ve had her pick up some smokes as long as she was out, but he wasn’t convinced that that was something she’d be as agreeable to as she was the trip to the butcher’s.

Money was just one consideration he was going to take a little more seriously now that he was in town. He wouldn’t have been as fussed if there wasn’t this baby now in the picture, but the current circumstances meant his days of five-finger discounts were limited. Buffy wouldn’t stand for anything remotely resembling theft being associated with her child; he was going to have to consider other means for staying flush.

There was also the matter of transportation. The DeSoto was down in South America; he didn’t really fancy having to hoof it all over town, nor did he like the idea of not having something to help Buffy out with. There was going to be the matter of doctor appointments soon, and then after…

His fingers stopped tapping at the book of poetry that sat in his lap. He was going to be a father. Would the rush of it ever stop amazing him?

He was still lost in thought, fantasizing about Buffy chasing after a little girl with blonde pigtails and skinned knees, when he caught the rhythmic pattern of footsteps approaching the door. It slowed as it came closer, and though it was heavier than Spike usually heard with Buffy, he decided that she must have her arms full, and hopped to his feet to clear the path for her.

“Took you long enough,” he said as he opened the door.

Xander’s surprised countenance stared back at him.


	17. Mad in Pursuit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXXIX.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Giles and Wesley have asked for Willow’s support on the Esme issue, Havi has shown up at Giles’, and Xander has discovered that Oz has been kidnapped but when he went to get Buffy, he came face to face with Spike instead…

Neither man moved.

Though there was a part of Spike that wanted to sneer and gloat at Harris about who was on which side of the door, another part remembered the fear and worry in Buffy’s face when she’d spoken of telling her friend about the new changes, not to mention how he’d agreed to stand back and let her handle this one since it would likely require a more delicate touch than the one Spike possessed. He was too soon back in Sunnydale and Buffy’s life to be abusing the privileges she granted him by going against his word.

So, he held his tongue and waited for Harris to make the first move.

He didn’t have to wait long.

The stake came from nowhere, but Xander’s lunge across the door’s threshold was clumsy and slow. Easily, Spike avoided the blow, his hand shooting up to grab Xander’s wrist, twisting the young man’s arm to turn and shove him into the open door. He squeezed until Xander cried out in pain, his fingers opening to let the stake clatter to the floor.

“Not very friendly of you,” Spike said casually. From the hallway, he could hear doors opening, feel curious eyes peek out to stare at the commotion, but he ignored them to press Xander a little bit harder into the wood.

“Let me go!” Xander rasped. He struggled to get away, but the iron bar of Spike’s forearm across his upper back pinned him like a trapped butterfly. All he could really move were his legs, and attempted to kick back at his captor with little result.

“Way I see it, you’re the one who attacked me. I’m the one who should be pissed here, and yet, do you see me takin’ it out on your neck? No.” He clicked his tongue in reproof. “Piss poor welcome party you are.”

“ _Nobody_ will welcome you back,” Xander hissed. “And when Buffy finds out---.” He paused, as if suddenly realizing that Spike was inside the dorm room and the Slayer wasn’t. “Where _is_ Buffy?” he demanded. “And how did you get in here?”

Spike couldn’t resist and leaned in to whisper his response into the boy’s ear. “Got a personal invite from the Slayer herself.”

Xander’s bark of laughter rang throughout the hall. “Like that’s even possible. Buffy warned you last time you hit town---.”

“What the hell is going on here?”

“Buffy! Help!” Somehow, the boy managed to twist enough to look at the Slayer standing behind them, two weighted down bags dangling from her hand. “Spike’s back! Stake him!”

Her eyes flickered to the few students who watched through their cracked doors. Pulling her bags a little closer to her body, Buffy pushed at both men, knocking them free of each other. “Inside. Now.”

Xander tried to grab the stake he’d dropped as he stumbled into the room, but Spike kicked it out of his way, smirking when the boy then grabbed a cross from a high shelf to brandish it before him like a shield. “I’ll hold him back,” Xander said to Buffy, his eyes locked on Spike as the vampire sauntered over to the bed. “You get another stake.”

“There will be no staking,” she announced, positioning herself between them.

“What do you mean? It’s _Spike_. In your _room_!”

“I know, Xander. I invited him in.”

Silence.

“Huh?”

With a twist of his lips, Spike dropped to stretch his lean length on the bed. “Told him that, pet. Boy doesn’t listen.”

“Shut up, Spike.”

The intent was sure, but her tone wasn’t, and it was the delicate touch of fear that she couldn’t hide from him that kept Spike from saying anything more. Instead, he laced his fingers behind his head and leaned back, watching as she rested a tremulous hand on Xander’s arm.

“There’s some…things I need to tell you,” Buffy started. “I was kind of hoping that you wouldn’t find out about Spike being in town this way---.”

“OK, now _you’re_ scaring me.” He was trying to joke, but failing miserably, his nervous fingers finally disappearing deep into his pockets as he stepped away from her. “You _knew_ about this? How long has he been here? Please tell me you haven’t been hiding him out at the mansion, because it was bad enough with Angel, but Spike? We _hate_ Spike.”

“We don’t hate Spike.”

“Since when?”

“Since…” She swallowed. “…Willow and I went to London.”

Understanding slowly crept into Xander’s eyes. “I knew it,” he said, taking a step backward and pointing an accusatory finger at his friend. “I _knew_ you two were being all secretive about something. Willow with her magic booster shot, and you with all your weird mood swings. It’s his fault, isn’t it? Willow’s Super-Sabrina now because of him?”

“No, that’s---.” Exhaling loudly, Buffy sat down on the edge of the bed as she attempted to control her frustration. “A lot happened in London,” she began again, “and yeah, Spike was kind of involved in it---.”

“Kind of?” Spike couldn’t hold his tongue on that; he wasn’t about to let Buffy lessen what had occurred between them, not now. “I was there every step of the way, luv. In fact, you could say I was pulling double duty. No ‘kind of’ about that.”

“Just tell me what’s going on,” Xander said. “Let’s start with why Spike’s in your room.”

“Could ask the same about you, Harris,” Spike shot back. “You make it a habit to show up unannounced at the Slayer’s door with a stake in your back pocket? Though maybe in your case, it might not be such a bad idea to keep it in the front. Might be your one and only chance to get any second looks from the bints in this town.”

For a moment, he looked confused. “No, I was---.” His eyes went wide. “Oz. Seeing Spike made me totally forget about Oz. See? He’s a bad influence, Buffy. He’s---.”

“What about Oz?”

Mention of Red’s boyfriend even made Spike perk up, paying closer attention as Xander related the events at Oz’s hideaway, pulling out the guitar pick to illustrate his story. It was all Buffy needed to set aside the discomfort of explaining Spike’s presence, though, as she visibly went into Slayer mode.

“We need to call Giles,” she announced, marching over to the phone. “He and Willow can meet us out there so we can try and figure out where they took Oz.” She hesitated when Spike sat up and began pulling his boots back on. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Comin’ with.”

“Oh, no, he’s not,” Xander said too loudly.

“You need me,” he countered. He ignored the boy and focused his attention on Buffy. “Took out four of them last night, didn’t I? And who else do you have who can track the wolf’s scent?”

“So we have to take Spikey the Vamphound?” Xander said. “I don’t think so.”

“If he’s still alive,” Spike continued, “he’ll have changed already, which means there’s the potential of him bein’ dangerous if you do manage to get him away from the soldier boys. Don’t be stubborn about this one, luv. It’s what I’m here for, remember?”

He could see her brain working, the way her eyes kept jumping between the two men as she made her decision. “There’s an extra tranq gun in my weapons chest,” she finally said. “Arm up. We don’t know what we’re going to need.”

“But, Buffy---.”

“Not now, Xander.” She picked up the phone and started dialing. “If you can’t deal with Spike coming, then go home. I’ll explain everything to you after we get Oz back. I promise.”

Busying himself with the weapons, Spike watched Xander’s indecision out of the corner of his eye. He was sure Buffy was kicking herself for taking so long to get back to the dorm; if she’d been only five minutes earlier, the awkward introductions could’ve been avoided. He’d have to find out later what exactly had held her up, but for now, they had to get Oz back. Oddly enough, Spike was feeling personally involved in this one. He hadn’t saved Oz the previous night just to have the soldier boys pull the same trick right under his nose.

“I’m in,” Xander finally said. “Oz is my _friend_ \---.” He shot Spike a dirty look on that. “---and I’m not going to just stand by.”

“Good,” Buffy said. “The more hands we have in this, the better.” The muted tone of a voice on the other end of the line caused her to turn partially away from the pair as she spoke. “Hi, Wesley. We’ve got a problem. A big one.”

* * *

The call interrupted Giles’ interrogation of Havi, and the room hung in limbo while they waited for Wesley to get off the phone. More than once, Willow caught Havi’s eye, shuddering at the predatory gleam she thought she detected there. It wasn’t malevolent, not like she’d seen in more than one demon’s face, but there was no mistaking the fact that this woman was accustomed to being a hunter, powerful and persistent. Though nothing had been said, Willow couldn’t help but wonder if _she_ was Havi’s new prey.

“There’s a problem,” Wesley said when he’d returned the phone to its base. He tore off the page from the pad, and looked grimly at Giles. “Buffy’s asked for us to meet her. It would seem that the vigilantes have succeeded in finally capturing Oz.”

All thoughts of her discomfort fled at her boyfriend’s name.

“What?” Willow said, jumping to her feet. “What happened?”

“He can explain on the way,” Giles said. He marched to the weapons chest and began extracting the tools they were going to need.

“Who is this Oz?” Havi asked.

“My boyfriend,” Willow replied tersely. She took the tranquilizer gun Giles offered with a familiarity from years of use.

Havi’s eyes bored into Willow’s back. “And you intend to…rescue him?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Then I shall join you.”

She’d been trying to quell the rising panic inside her chest, but hearing the simple assertion stunned Willow into gaping at the woman.

“That won’t be necessary,” Giles started, but was cut off when Havi stepped forward and took the crossbow he held, looking it over with an expert eye before slinging it over her shoulder.

“Rose would wish for me to do this,” she said. “Would you risk the safety of your friend by denying my aid?”

“My apologies, Miss Aronowicz, but I’m afraid I must insist.” Firmly, he took the weapon away from her. “Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

For a moment, Havi looked as if she was going to argue, dark eyes narrowing as they searched Giles’ face. “As it must be,” she finally said, and turned back to the door in acquiescence. “May I return tomorrow so that we may discuss my purpose here in Sunnydale?”

“Fine,” he replied, now distracted. “Tomorrow, then.”

Though she watched Havi nod to Wesley before exiting the still-open front door, Willow’s worry was quickly diverted back to the catastrophe at hand. She couldn’t believe that the vigilantes had managed to get Oz. How? None of them had survived the previous night to tell of his true identity, and his monthly hideaway wasn’t anywhere near the cemetery where they’d been jumped. How had they found him?

She didn’t have time to think about questions. She only had time to focus on how they were going to get him back. Of course, they had no idea who the vigilantes really were, or where they were located, but Willow didn’t care. They would find a way. They had to.

She didn’t even notice the sizzle that seemed to surge across her skin.

* * *

The trio was a somber lot as they slid into the beat-up Citroen, and though she wasn’t pleased that she wasn’t part of their group, Havi respected the Watcher just a little bit more for refusing to allow her to accompany them. She would’ve done just the same. Without the opportunity to explain her presence in Sunnydale, they had little reason to trust her, and trust was imperative in what they were about to endeavor.

It didn’t mean she couldn’t still help, though. It just meant that she had to do it from afar.

She kept the rental car at a fair distance from Giles’ as she followed their wending path through Sunnydale. When they pulled alongside a wooded section on the edge of town, she continued driving past, going a further half-mile, hidden from their view, before coming to a stop. There had been two other cars waiting for Willow and the Watchers, a van and something that looked like an Escort, but Havi could’ve sworn she caught a glimpse of platinum hair gleaming dully in the muted dusk light. She knew who that was. She’d only ever seen the vampire from a distance, when Baltozar had met up with him to discuss Rose’s whereabouts, but she’d heard quite a bit about William the Bloody.

_“Don’t ever take him for granted,” Rose said. She was busy sorting through her books, looking for one in particular. “If you do, you will die.”_

_“He is that formidable?” Havi asked._

_“He’s that unpredictable. Do you expect otherwise from a vampire in love with a Slayer?” Rose smiled as she found the text for which she was searching, and lovingly stroked its cover. “There you are,” she said to it. “I almost thought I had to replace you.”_

_“Why are you so convinced he’ll go to her?” She wasn’t ready to stop pursuing this topic. So much of her future hinged on Rose’s visions, it would be foolish not to be completely informed._

_“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Sitting at her desk, Rose pulled out her favorite red pen and opened the book to its title page. “He loves her. Once he doesn’t have me as a distraction, he’ll have no reason to stay away.” She quieted as she scratched out a few lines. From where she stood, Havi couldn’t see the bulk of what was written, but she did see the flourish of the seer’s name as Rose signed the note. “But just in case, I’m leaving William a little nudge in that direction. He’ll go. His curiosity won’t allow him to stay away.”_

Apparently, Rose had been right.

* * *

Nobody said a word when they saw Spike waiting with Buffy and Xander, though Willow threw both of her friends a curious look before heading toward the hideaway. It was better that way, Buffy decided. Nothing was said. There were other, more important things to concentrate on than the reasons Spike and Xander weren’t killing each other.

It was her fault, of course. All of it. She’d been delayed at the butcher’s shop, and then when she’d tried taking a shortcut back to campus after getting her sandwich, Buffy had run into a vampire snacking on a coed in a covered alley. The stupid demon had fallen and crushed her bag of blood before she got the chance to dust him, making it necessary to take another trip back to the butcher. Everything had been conspiring to keep her from getting back to the dorm in time to intercept Xander, and now he knew just enough to hurt his feelings for being kept in the dark.

She was taking the blame for Oz, too, though Spike had quarreled with her the entire trip over about that particular responsibility. She’d known he was at risk, but she hadn’t taken any extra steps to protect him from the vigilantes. It was all her fault that they’d captured him this time.

“Don’t be daft,” Spike had said. “You couldn’t have known.”

“It’s my job to know,” she’d shot back.

He’d shut up at that, though he’d watched her through his eyelashes for the duration of the ride, and Buffy had deliberately diverted her notice to the window and the lengthening night shadows they passed. Only Spike knew the extent to which she shouldered her responsibility, but it was only Spike who knew how delicate that balance really was.

Now, he walked with Willow at the front of the group, his head high, his senses sharp as he paused every now and again to inhale deeply of the night air. The first time he did it, Xander rolled his eyes, but a frown from Buffy quelled the dissension from her friend. She had no idea what was going to happen, whether they would find Oz or not, but she couldn’t afford to have any more fighting amongst her team. Their odds for success lessened if they weren’t united. She’d learned that one a long time ago.

Before they reached the hideaway, Spike stopped in his tracks, his head jerking to his left. His eyes narrowed as they searched the darkness, and Buffy followed his gaze, wondering what it was he was seeing.

“This way,” he said, his voice abrupt.

“But, Oz’s place is in that direction,” Willow said, pointing ahead.

“But he’s not,” Spike countered. His head jerked toward the far-off trees. “They took him that way.”

“Then that’s where we’re going,” Buffy said. She made sure there was no mistaking the authority in her voice. The only way to get the gang to trust Spike was to show them that _she_ trusted him first.

They walked until they reached the edge of the forest. Nobody said a word, and every step dragged their hopes down just that much further. Even Buffy was beginning to wonder if they were on a fool’s quest.

Then, Spike pointed at the dirt road they encountered. Even in the dark light, Buffy could see the fresh tracks leading away from the forest, and her heart sank. They were going to be too late.

The silence continued, as if everyone feared that stating the obvious would shatter what little hope remained. It was Willow who pushed past Spike, crouching down in the road to press her hand to the dirt.

Buffy’s eyes widened when she saw the sparks jump from her friend’s fingers to soak into the earth. Behind her, she heard Xander’s gasp and the unmistakable sound of Giles stepping forward.

“Willow,” he said quietly, “what are you doing?”

She ignored the Watcher’s words. As they watched, Willow’s hand curled into the soil, glowing orange as if from some inner fire, and her hair began to blow from an unseen breeze. The air was crackling with power, making Buffy’s heart begin to race inside her chest. Had it been like this for Willow all along? The thought was terrifying.

“Be careful, Red,” Spike said. He was keeping his distance from her, but his eyes were fixed to what she was doing. “You don’t know---.”

The sight of golden wisps starting to trail along the road and into the distance cut him off. With a sudden exhalation, Willow collapsed to the ground.

Her tumble released the invisible bonds that had held the group still, and they rushed en masse to her aid. Being the closest, Spike was the first to reach Willow, and rolled her onto her back, stretching her out just as Buffy arrived to crouch at her side. Buffy’s fingers flew to her friend’s wrist, checking her pulse, and when she found it slow but steady, she sighed in relief.

“Did it work?” Willow murmured. Her voice was faint, her eyes closed, and her skin had taken an ashen cast that made her more pale than Spike in the moonlight. “Just tell me…it worked.”

“That depends,” Xander said. He was at her head, pushing back the hair from her face. “What were you trying to do?”

Her lids drifted upward. “Looking for Oz.” Her tongue darted out to lick her dry lips. “I wanted bread crumbs.”

When her eyes fluttered shut again, Xander leaned forward. “I’m thinking we need to get her to a hospital,” he whispered. “Whatever she’s done is making her loopy.”

“Actually,” Wesley said, “she’s making perfect sense.” He was walking along the length of the golden wisps that hovered above the road, staring at them intently. “Somehow, I believe that she’s filtered the distinguishing characteristics of the tracks and intensified those that belong to Oz so that we can follow him, regardless of whether we lose sight of the markings made by the vehicle.” He stopped, crouched, and passed his hand through the fine mist. “In short, she’s created a bread crumb trail for us. Ingenious, really.”

Xander’s eyes widened. “She can do that?”

“Apparently,” Giles said.

“She’s unconscious,” Buffy announced. She turned worried eyes up to the Watchers. “It’s just like when she did her mojo on the vamp in the cemetery the other night. The magic overloads her system and she passes out.”

Silently, Giles knelt next to Willow, his hands expertly examining her. As the seconds passed, Spike began to pace in the background.

“Tick tock, people,” he said, his voice echoing in the forest. “The longer you waffle on whether Red’s up to par or not, the further away her wolf gets.”

“Spike’s right,” Buffy said. “We need to get moving.”

“Well, Willow won’t be joining us.” Giles sat back on his heels. “Physically, she appears to be fine, but we can’t carry her with us, waiting for her to wake up. Someone needs to take her back to the dorm.”

“I’ll do it,” Xander announced. “I’ve got the wheels.”

As he worked to scoop Willow into his arms, the soft whisk of brush being pushed aside behind all of them made first Spike’s attention snap to investigate it, then Buffy’s.

“You will need another to replace him.” The words were uttered by a woman Buffy didn’t recognize, muscular and dark, with short hair that made her seem even taller. A scabbard was strapped to her back, and she was dressed accordingly for fighting in khaki trousers and a tight tank.

Before Buffy could demand to know who she was, Giles straightened, lifting his chin to stare at the new arrival. “Following us is not the way to gain our trust,” he said. His voice was ice, his eyes like flint

“It would appear that my following is fortuitous.” Her dark eyes flickered to the unconscious Willow. “She will be all right?”

“Yes,” Buffy said carefully. “She just needs to sleep it off.” Turning with a frown to her Watcher, she asked, “Who is this?”

His lips thinned as he seemed to consider his reply. “Her name is Havi Aronowicz,” he finally said. “She claims to have some connection to Rose Rhodes-Fanshaw.”

The seer’s name startled Spike, and he took a determined step forward, his eyes narrowed as he scrutinized the woman. “Don’t s’pose you and me have ever met?” he said to her. Though the words were casual, the danger dripped from his voice. “’Cause I can’t shake this funny feelin’ that I know you from somewhere.”

The fact that Havi didn’t back down in the face of Spike’s cogent confrontation scored points for her in Buffy’s book. “You are William the Bloody,” Havi said. “Rose told me much about you. She said you had been a…good man.”

Whether it was the reference to his human self or the fact that Rose would talk about him so extensively with a stranger, Spike bristled at the statement. “Not a man any more,” he said, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

“Yes, I know.” Her gaze danced between Willow, Giles, and then finally to Buffy. “Your time is running short,” she said. “If you don’t wish to lose the trail Willow has provided, you should move quickly.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re coming with us,” Giles argued.

“If you prefer, I can take Willow back to her---.”

“No!” It was the most forceful Xander had been since first spotting Spike in Buffy’s room. His arms pulled his friend closer. “No offense, but if Giles doesn’t trust you, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you anywhere near her.”

“Xander’s right,” Buffy said. “I…appreciate the offer, but this is a family thing. We’ll do it without you.” With her decision made, she turned to Xander and tucked her room key into his chest pocket before starting off down the road, not once glancing over her shoulder. Spike fell into step beside her, and with a wary look to an unmoving Havi, Wesley and Giles followed.

This was her team. She didn’t need anybody else’s help.

* * *

Knocking out a small man with a tranquilizer was one thing.

Keeping that man sedated when his body transformed into something larger and infinitely more dangerous was something else entirely.

Graham drove the van over the bumpy road leading back to the main drag to Sunnydale. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel, his face grim and spectral in the moonlight that trickled through the windshield. Dr. Walsh had given him this assignment because she knew how badly he wanted it; he was infuriated that this particular HST was responsible for his best friend’s death and wanted retribution in the worst possible way.

Taking him at the grungy cave he used to lock himself up during the full moon had been relatively pain-free. Though the werewolf had fought with Graham when he’d been grabbed, his human strength was no match for the soldier’s, and it was made even less so once he’d been injected with the tranquilizer. It was almost too easy for Graham. He wanted an excuse to pound the little twerp’s face in for what he’d done to Riley.

He was still debating pulling over and just giving the guy a beating before taking him into the tunnels when they heard the first growl from the back. Graham glanced into his rearview mirror, but the back of the van was a mass of inky shadows. It was impossible to see what exactly was happening there.

“Go check on him,” he instructed his partner. “Make sure he’s---.”

A ferocious roar preceded a violent rocking of the van, and the steering wheel twisted violently in Graham’s hands. Fighting to maintain control of the vehicle, he saw his teammate slither from his seatbelt to disappear into the back, but the force of his attention was fixed on the road ahead.

Another inhuman scream echoed inside the metal walls, and this time, the turbulence that buffeted the van was too vehement for it to withstand. It tipped dangerously sideways, and would’ve continued rolling off the road if it hadn’t collided with the hulking tree along the track.

Graham became aware of the sound of ripping metal, and a cool blast across his cheeks before the world faded into black.


	18. Slight Air and Purging Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XLV.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy led the gang off in search of Oz, where Willow did a spell to illuminate his trail, but then passed out; Xander volunteered to take her back to the dorm, and Havi revealed that she’d followed them but was shot down  
> from helping by both Giles and Buffy…

She had no choice but to follow them. At a discreet distance, of course. The Slayer had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t trust Havi, but that was to be expected. Perhaps what wasn’t so anticipated was seeing William the Bloody so easily assimilated into her band of fighters. Rose had hinted that his feelings were reciprocated, but Havi hadn’t believed that a Slayer would be so trusting of a vampire, no matter what her feelings for him were. It seemed in direct contradiction with her ethical mandate, but then, Rose had always insisted that these were extenuating circumstances.

The possibility that she was sabotaging her efforts to ingratiate herself with the Hellmouth team flickered briefly across Havi’s mind, but she dismissed it as a necessary risk to take in light of the situation. Willow’s well-being had been designated as her primary responsibility before she’d arrived in Sunnydale, and her meditation at the well had only confirmed that. This werewolf was the man Willow cared for, so this was a man Havi had to help save.

From a distance. Until the time was right to give them her aid.

* * *

Her body felt like lead as Willow struggled to push past the clouds of unconsciousness that still fogged her brain. Unfortunately, it was becoming a familiar feeling. For whatever reason, this was how her body reacted whenever the magic took over.

Desperate, she tried to remember what exactly had happened this time. She remembered finding the dirt road, and seeing the tracks, and tasting the bile that rose in the back of her throat at the thought that she might’ve been too late. Then, the possibility that all might not be lost had started to spark inside her, and she’d pushed past Spike to examine the tracks more closely.

That was when things started to get blurry.

The memory of the magic surging through her body was electric, but how she made it happen, Willow had no idea. She just knew what she wanted, and then…it did. Kind of freaky, but on the other hand…maybe a little cool.

She’d passed out then, all her energy suddenly gone, but where was she now? She was being jostled slightly, but it was warm, and there was the distinct scent of sweat and sugar somewhere very close to her. Like, next to her cheek close to her.

She smiled even as she forced her eyelids to open.

“Hey, Xander,” Willow said, her voice barely a breath.

His step hesitated for a moment when he glanced down to return her smile. “Look who woke up,” he said brightly. “How you feeling?”

“Have to say, I’ve been better.” She realized then that they were alone, the trees thinning around them as they neared the edge of the forest. “Did it work?” she asked. “Did Buffy find Oz?”

“I don’t know. I volunteered to take you back to your---hey!”

She landed on her bottom with a hard thump, the world spinning crazily around her. The understanding that Oz still wasn’t safe, that anything could have happened to him by now, fuelled her aching muscles into action, driving her to her shaky feet.

Xander’s hand shot out to grasp Willow’s arm, steadying her before she fell over again. “Are you OK?” he asked.

She realized he thought she’d just fallen, not that she’d deliberately twisted from his hold. Somewhere, in the back of her head, a small voice was coaxing her to use his confusion to her advantage, whispering doubts about what could happen to Oz if she didn’t.

“I’m fine,” Willow said, and adopted her best and brightest smile. “I’m great, actually. Let’s go catch up with Buffy.”

He hesitated, his brows drawing together. “Two seconds ago, you were giving wet noodles a bad name. Now, you’re ready to go another round?” Xander shook his head. “Uh uh. I’m getting you home.”

As he started to pull her back in the direction he’d been heading, slivers of electricity began to creep along Willow’s skin, animating her nerves, seeping into her flesh until she’d gathered enough strength to combat his control.

“No,” she said, her voice rock-hard and just as cold. She yanked her arm from his grasp, causing him to stumble without the extra weight of her behind him. “I’m not sitting this one out, Xander. Oz needs me.”

“Oz needs someone who isn’t going to pass out with a little hocus pocus. No offense, Will.”

“I won’t. I _can’t_.” Her tone took on a wheedling that had worked on him since they’d been six years old. “What if they need me? What if they need _you_?” And all of a sudden, she knew exactly how to get Xander to agree.

Willow took a step closer, lifting her hand to his arm, steeling herself against the trembling such an effort seemed to generate. “If they find the vigilantes,” she said, lowering her voice, “you _know_ Buffy won’t let Spike anywhere near them. How can she trust him around humans? Oz deserves _all_ of our help, don’t you think?”

She knew the instant she uttered the vampire’s name that he’d do it. She didn’t know the details of how Xander had found out about Buffy and Spike, but she’d been aware enough of the tension as they’d hunted for Oz to know it hadn’t been pretty. She was banking on the fact that they’d been more about the fighty than the talky, so maybe Xander didn’t know yet about the rescue mission of the night before, because frankly, Willow wasn’t sure _what_ Buffy’s position was going to be when it came to Spike.

When Xander started to nod, the little voice in the back of her head started crowing in satisfaction, but somewhere in Willow’s heart, a stab of guilt was making itself known. Repeatedly.

_Sorry, Spike._

“Promise me you’ll stay out of it,” Xander said, lifting a warning finger as he spoke. “I’m letting you go back because I know how I’d feel in your shoes, _not_ because you’re going to help, understand?”

“Actually, I think my shoes would pinch you,” Willow teased, relaxing slightly. Her gamble had worked. “You have boats for feet.”

“Yeah, well, these boats are ready to kick some vigilante butt.” He jerked his head back toward the trees. “C’mon.”

* * *

They hadn’t been following Red’s golden bread crumbs for ten minutes yet, but Spike could feel the tension wound through Buffy’s muscles as easily as he could feel his own. When he caught her glancing up at the sky through the trees for the third time, he angled his path to close the distance between them, effectively blocking any intrusions from the Watchers who followed behind.

“What’s wrong, pet?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

It took her a moment to respond, and when she did, her voice was terse. “The moon’s out.”

“Better for the boy, then.” At her frown, he elaborated, “I don’t care how many years he’s been helping you, he can’t hold a candle to a werewolf when it comes to a fight.”

“Unless they decide to kill him.”

Spike shook his head. “Won’t get to that. This lot’s too interested in takin’ him in, or else they wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble to track down his hideyhole.”

Buffy pursed her lips, holding back the argument he knew she was dying to let loose. She was frustrated about the situation, worried about Willow, anxious about Xander finding out the truth; her whole body was just one exposed nerve ending, and Spike was itching to take her in his arms and try to soothe all of it away. He settled for placing his hand in the small of her back, sliding beneath her top to stroke the soft skin it found without interfering with her pace.

“You know,” she said softly, “even as wacky as Slayer days can get, today definitely has to rate as one of the wackiest.”

“No exploding heads, though,” he countered with a shake of his head. “Not even from Harris. Have to say I’m a little disappointed. Would’ve been fun to see that.” When he didn’t even get a smile from her, Spike leaned across and brushed his lips across her temple.

“Everything’ll sort itself out, luv,” he murmured. “Just focus on this, and we’ll deal with the other later.”

She nodded mutely, but the tight draw of her mouth made Spike wonder just how much of what he’d said had actually got through to her. Maybe it was better if she started taking it easy from the Slayer stuff. Between the pregnancy and school, Buffy had enough on her plate to keep her worried for the next century without having to add saving the world on top of it. It might be worth for it him to have a talk with Rupert about lessening her load. Without her knowing, of course. She might not take too kindly to his thinking she couldn’t handle it all on her own. He knew she was more than capable; he just wanted her not to _have_ to.

They heard the crash at the same time, jerking still as their senses stretched forward. The scent of coppery blood permeated Spike’s awareness first, and he broke into a run a split second before Buffy did. He didn’t want to tell her it was human, though. How would she react if she caught her friend killing?

Rounding the path, they saw the dark van, its engine smoking from where it had smashed into a hulking tree. One of the back doors hung from its hinges, and even in the dark, Spike saw the pale flash of skin as a lifeless hand dangled over the edge.

“He’s not here,” he said. The smells were confusing, and he shifted into his demon face in order to better sort them out. Golden eyes glowing in the darkness, his head swiveled slowly until it stopped, just off to his left. “He ran off in that direction.”

“Find him,” Buffy ordered. She shoved the tranq gun into his hands. “Take him down without hurting him. I’m going to check out our vigilantes.”

“I’ll go with Spike,” Giles said, stepping forward.

For a moment, her eyes flickered between the two men, doubt making her hesitate. “All right,” she said, finally deciding it must not be worth the argument. “But I fully expect three of you to come back. No funny business.” She made sure to look at Spike, as well. “From either of you.”

They both nodded, and Spike headed off toward the scent that crashed through the undergrowth. He knew why the Watcher had volunteered to help, but that didn’t mean he had to acknowledge it. Better to focus on the task at hand and find the wolf. Before it was too late.

* * *

The thought of Spike and Giles going anywhere on their own so soon after their confrontation had Buffy’s stomach flipflopping with the best of them, but she didn’t have time to dwell on the what if’s when she had a very real situation staring her down right in front of her.

“Go check on the guy in the back,” she ordered Wesley. “I’m going to see about the driver.”

To his credit, Wes didn’t say a word, just clutched his weapon tighter and prowled stealthily toward the open door. Buffy countered his approach by circling to the side, and paused when she saw the young man slumped against the steering wheel.

Though blood was running freely from a cut on his forehead, and the shadows hid half of his face from her inspection, Buffy didn’t need any more detail to recognize who he was. Her mind searched for the name. A friend of Riley’s. Someone she’d seen around campus, usually with a group of other frat guys. Were all of them part of the same vigilante group?

Graham.

Taking a hesitant step forward, she held the knife in her hand at the ready, just in case he decided to come around. From behind the van, she heard the creak of the door being pried open, and then a heavy thump as Wesley must’ve rolled the body over. Graham never moved.

“This one’s dead,” Wes announced, his voice sounding hollow from inside the van.

“How?” She had to know.

There was a pause. “His chest has been slashed,” he finally said. “I think one of his lungs was punctured.” There was a soft clink of metal hitting metal. “It looks like Oz must’ve broken free from his bindings and this one came back to restrain him again. He’s still armed.”

Buffy stepped up to the driver’s window and peered inside. Graham wore military fatigues, much like the others had, but his clothing was mostly intact. Reaching forward to check his pulse, she was relieved to feel the steady pounding beneath her fingertips. He must’ve been knocked out from the accident.

“Mine’s still alive,” she called out.

Wesley appeared through the division between the seats. He shone his flashlight along the interior, outlining the seat belt that still strapped Graham into place. “He didn’t have time to go to his partner’s aid,” he murmured.

“And Oz didn’t go after him. He should consider himself lucky.”

“Perhaps Oz was injured in the crash.”

Buffy paused. “That’s going to make him extra dangerous. He’s going to be going on pure instinct.”

Wesley’s eyes met hers, surprisingly calm. “Rupert and William will be just fine.”

“I know.” Her head turned toward the trees. “I know.”

* * *

At least with Spike in the lead, he had something distinctive to follow. Even if the rest of him melted into the velvet night, the vampire’s hair was enough of a beacon to make the path easy, and Giles trailed after him as he moved effortlessly amid the trees. More than once, he was forced to suffer a withering glance from Spike when Giles’ step wasn’t quite as nimble as the demon’s, but he held his tongue, doing his best to concentrate on the priority at hand.

He failed.

“Is this to become a regular occurrence?” Giles asked in a low voice. “Buffy needs help and you attempt to ride to the rescue?”

Spike snorted. “Knew you wouldn’t piddle about in tryin’ again,” he said. “But at least you had the stones not to try and drag Buffy into this little pissin’ match of yours. S’pose I should be thanking you for that.”

The unexpected response made him stumble again. “This isn’t---.”

“I know what this is about,” Spike interrupted. “And I thought I made myself clear this morning. I’m here to help. That’s all.”

“And to continue your relationship with Buffy.”

“If that’s what she wants.”

“It doesn’t seem as if you’re giving her much choice.”

“I’m givin’ her _every_ \---.”

He almost ran into Spike’s back before he realized that the vampire had stopped. Then, Giles heard it. A thrashing of sticks and brush whispering in the air.

“This way,” Spike whispered, jerking his head off to the right.

When he passed in front of Giles, the Watcher was shocked to realize that he was still in gameface, and had most likely been for their entire search. How would the Council look at this? he thought ruefully as he followed after Spike. Not well. He could only hope that he could keep them in the dark as long as possible. What was one more thing to add to the list, after all?

They came to the edge of a clearing, and Spike sniffed at the air, his skin bristling at alert. All of a sudden, he thrust the tranquilizer gun back at Giles. “Take it,” he ordered. “And wait ‘til you’ve got a clear shot. Don’t fancy gettin’ knocked out at the moment.”

Giles grabbed Spike’s wrist before the vampire could step clear of the trees that hid them. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

“Our boy’s hurt,” Spike replied. “He’s not goin’ to go down easy, and something tells me that if he smells a human, it won’t be pretty. I’m just going to distract him for you. Just you be careful where you point that thing, all right? I meant what I said.”

“And why is it _I’m_ the one who isn’t distracting him?” Giles asked.

The grin Spike shot him was chilling. “Because you’re dinner. Me? I’m just annoying.”

Steeling against the rightness of the statement, Giles watched Spike slither from his hiding spot and quickly took his place, positioning the gun against his shoulder in readiness.

Without Spike barring the way, Giles could see the huddled form of Oz at the left end of the clearing. Though his head was turned away, it appeared as if he was licking at his wounds, which, considering the roots of his demon, certainly made sense. Spike stalked him from behind, taking a circuitous route around the edge so that when he had Oz’s attention, it would be trained away from where Giles had the gun. Begrudgingly, the Watcher admired the vampire’s expertise before reminding himself that likely, this was how he and Drusilla had functioned for decades.

A snarl stopped Spike in his tracks, much sooner than Giles would have expected. There was no hesitation on the part of the werewolf before he launched himself in attack at the approaching vampire, and the two went down in a heap of claws and teeth.

Buffy’s warning not to hurt Oz rang in Giles’ ears, and he waited, his heart pounding in his chest, as he watched the pair of demons go at each other in the dark. It was difficult to tell them apart, a melding of black against black, but Spike’s hair helped to keep it straight. What struck Giles was that he’d seen enough battles to be able to differentiate between the offensive and defensive, and as far as he could tell, it appeared that Spike was adhering to the nature of Buffy’s request. The only blood that was shed was the vampire’s, when a clawed hand swiped across his cheek.

The opening came when Oz pinned Spike to the ground.

Before Oz could go in for the kill, Spike surprised him by bucking his hips, using the motion to turn it into a full kip and throwing the werewolf a good ten feet off. Giles lowered his eye to the sight and squeezed the trigger, relieved when the answering yelp was followed by Oz’s slump to the ground.

“Took you long enough,” Spike complained, wiping at the blood on his face. He sucked at the scarlet on his fingers, making his way to where Oz lay prone in the dirt. “Too bad Buffy can’t use the wolf in a proper fight. He’s a scrapper. I’d love to have him on my side.”

“And here I thought that your presence here meant he _was_ on your side now,” Giles remarked, stepping into the clearing. He holstered the weapon. “Let’s get him back to Buffy. The tranquilizer should give us a few hours to get him someplace he can’t hurt anyone again tonight.”

* * *

At some point, Willow got in front of him, but Xander just attributed it to her adrenaline charging her back up. Once they found out Buffy got Oz safely away from the vigilantes, Willow would likely be out for the count, and he could take her back to the dorm to tuck her in for a good night’s sleep. Xander had a funny feeling she just might sleep until next Tuesday.

Frankly, he’d been grateful for the task of helping his best friend. Up to that point, he’d been torn between wanting to drive a stake through Spike’s back and pulling Buffy off the path to demand to know what was going on. Helping Willow distracted him from the abundance of questions that was making his head spin. How could Buffy trust Spike? What could’ve possibly happened that would’ve changed her opinion of the vamp? Those, and more, left his stomach queasy, his nerves frazzled.

So, yeah, focusing on Willow? A very good thing.

She saw the van first, and broke into a run without saying a word. Xander took chase, but it was only seconds before he skidded to a halt.

A body was stretched out on the ground behind the van, but he didn’t need to get any closer to know it was already dead. Alongside the vehicle, Buffy and Wesley were propping up a second guy, though the fact that this one was trussed up tighter than his Aunt Ida’s Christmas turkey was all he needed to know that this one was still among the living.

Unnoticed, Willow stood in the middle of the road, her eyes fixed to the man on the ground. She seemed not to be aware of what Buffy was doing, her breathing quickening, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. A small breeze seemed to come from nowhere, and just as it had earlier when she’d created the magical trail for them to follow, Willow’s hair began to flutter in rhythm with the moving air.

“Whatcha doing, Willow?” Xander asked softly, taking a tentative step forward. When she didn’t respond, he repeated his question, raising his voice so that this time, Buffy would hear him.

The Slayer stood, and moved away from her captive with a wary grace. “Willow?” she said. “Are you all right? I thought you were going back to the dorm.”

“Where’s Oz?” She didn’t look away from the dead man. She didn’t move at all. Xander couldn’t help but wonder if her lips had even moved when she’d asked the question.

“Not here,” Buffy replied. “But Spike’s finding him.”

“This is one of the vigilantes.”

It wasn’t a question. The eerie calm of Willow’s voice raised goosebumps along Xander’s arms.

Buffy took another step. “Yes, but---.”

The flames that erupted from Willow’s hands made all of them jump away. Where the body had once been resting in peaceful death, a pyre six feet high now stood, sparks jumping from the fire’s zenith to dance among the lowest branches of the trees.

“Willow!” Buffy shouted. But when she darted forward to try and tackle her friend, she was stopped by Wesley’s hand around her arm.

“Don’t,” he warned. His eyes were steady on Willow. “She’s acting completely reflexively. If you interrupt her, she could turn it against you.”

“What? No. Willow wouldn’t do that.”

Xander crept around to join them as Wesley continued to speak.

“It’s not Willow,” he said. “Look at her eyes. She’s not in control of her actions. We must talk her down from what she’s doing.”

The only sound was the crackle of the flames as Xander reached Buffy’s side. From this vantage point, he could see what they did, the pink of Willow’s cheeks from the heat contrasting sharply with the washed-out pallor of her skin. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused, and he wasn’t even sure she was looking at the fire she’d created.

“Next time Giles suggests a vacation,” he said, his voice low and even, “I highly suggest you two turn him down.”

“What do I say?” Buffy whispered.

“Assure her everything will be fine,” Wesley answered. “Convince her that Oz is safe.”

“How do I do that?”

Xander pointed into the trees. “You could try showing her.”

They followed his gaze to see Spike and Giles step onto the road, an unconscious Oz slung over Spike’s shoulder. The two Englishmen came to a stop when they saw the fire, though, their frowns jumping from Willow to Buffy.

“Bit early for Guy Fawkes, isn’t it?” Spike said casually.

Buffy took a half-step closer to Willow. “We’ve got him,” she said carefully. She lifted her hand and pointed. “Look, Will. Oz is just fine.”

For a second, nothing happened.

Xander stifled a cough from the smoke.

Then, Willow blinked. Her hands faltered, and the flames that engulfed the dead body winked out.

“Oz?” she said. Her voice sounded like a lost child’s, and she turned to see for herself.

“Sleepin’ like a baby,” Spike said, twisting to allow her a look

“Can I go to her now?” Buffy whispered.

But before she could move, Willow sagged to the ground.

“Willow!” Xander cried out, running to her side.

She was gasping, as if she couldn’t breathe, and her fingers were curled into the earth, clawing through the brush until all Xander could see were faint slivers of white through the brown. “What…what…what did I…do?” she said faintly. Before he could answer, she looked past him and saw the smoking corpse behind the van. Her eyes widened. “Oh…god…” Hunching forward, she began vomiting into the dirt.

“It’s OK,” Xander said, gently patting her back. Up and down her spine as she emptied the contents of her stomach, he repeated the soothing strokes with the verbal sentiment, hoping that some of it would get through to her.

“Get her home,” Buffy said behind him. “We’ll take care of Oz.”

He could only nod. Though she wouldn’t say so, not now, Xander knew Buffy would hold him responsible for this. _He_ was the one who let Willow come back; _he_ was the reason Willow was going to wake up in the morning with the worst case of regret since the incident with Spike at the Factory. He couldn’t even hold onto his hatred of Spike in the face of his own failure. At least Spike had managed to get Oz back.

* * *

He watched Harris help Red to her feet, not meeting anyone’s eyes as they began the long walk down the road to his car. Spike wasn’t sure what had happened prior to his arrival to provoke the witch’s actions, but from the looks on Buffy and the Watcher’s faces, he didn’t think it was good.

He swallowed the smile that threatened to erupt. For once, at least _he_ wasn’t the one bearing the brunt of fault in the situation.

“What happened?” Giles asked, stepping forward to examine the smoldering body.

“Willow freaked,” Buffy said. “For whatever reason, Xander brought her back, and when she heard he was one of the vigilantes…” She waved toward the corpse. “…vigilante go bye-bye.” At her Watcher’s worried frown, she hastened to add, “He was already dead, Giles. So no big there.”

“Strong emotion seems to cause Willow to lose control of her powers,” Wesley observed. “She was quite uncommunicative the entire time. Removed, I would say.”

“That would gel with what happened during patrol the other night,” Buffy said.

“And the events when we found the tracks earlier.” Giles began pacing as he ruminated on the new information. “I had no idea the magnitude of this. She never said anything to me.”

Buffy sighed. “She didn’t tell _any_ of us.”

“She’ll have to begin the discipline exercises as soon as possible,” he continued. “We can’t afford to delay any longer. The circumstances will have to be ignored.”

“What circumstances?”

Spike saw the glance exchanged by the two Watchers. Something bigger was going on, something they didn’t want to talk about, and he had a sneaking suspicion Buffy wasn’t going to like it. Which meant _Spike_ wasn’t likely to be pleased about it, either. And right now, they had other things to worry about that needed to be addressed before certain tranquilizers wore off.

“Not that I don’t just love the way you lot talk everything to death,” Spike said, “but sleeping beauty over there’s starting to wake up.” He nodded toward the man leaning against the van. “What’re we doin’ about him?”

By the way the trio looked at each other, he realized nobody had given the other a second thought, and shook his head. “I’ll make it easy for you then,” he said. When he started to shrug the weight of the werewolf from his shoulders, though, Buffy stepped forward, pressing a hand to his chest.

“We’re not killing him,” she said.

“That’s bloody stupid, and you know it,” he shot back. “If you let the wanker live, they’ll just come after Oz again. And maybe next time, Red won’t be toasting someone who’s already dead. You want to be responsible for _that_?”

She hadn’t considered that possibility, and it showed on her face as she turned back to face the waking man.

“What about taking him back for interrogation?” Wesley suggested. “We could learn what this vigilante group is intending, why they keep capturing all the demons instead of killing them?”

“I like that idea,” Buffy said. “Answers are good. Answers are better than---.” She stopped, her gaze lifting to stare through the trees. After a moment, she sighed. “Get out here,” she called. “So not in the mood for more of this stalker shit tonight.”

Spike tensed when he saw the same woman from earlier emerge from the dark, unconsciously pulling himself straighter as her tall form approached. That familiar scent still lingered on her flesh, not something that was part of her essence but more something she wore, as Buffy wore the scents of Red and Giles and Harris. It was faint, and it killed him that he couldn’t place it. It seemed like it should be important.

“I thought I told you we didn’t want you to tag along,” Buffy said, her hands on her hips.

Havi shrugged. “I didn’t intervene,” she said calmly. “I would not have let you known I had followed unless circumstances dictated it.”

“Tell me again why you’re even here?”

Before Havi could speak, the man on the ground groaned, bringing everyone’s attention back to the immediate situation. His eyes remained shut, but it was clear that he would come wake any moment.

“OK,” Buffy said, “so who gets the honor of carrying _this_ one?”

“Pardon my forwardness,” Havi interrupted, “but I heard your intentions and I believe you will be making a mistake if you take him into custody.” She remained unruffled as all eyes turned back to her. “I am correct in understanding he and his comrades are hunting Willow’s boyfriend?”

Buffy’s nod was hesitant, her gaze scrutinizing as she waited to see where this was going.

“And this was their second attempt?” At the second confirmation, she said, “Then they will not stop until they have succeeded. If you take this one in, his friends will merely assume he failed and will continue their efforts.”

“That’s if there _are_ any more.”

Havi’s eyes flickered to the van, to the weapons that were visible inside it. “There are more.”

For a moment, Buffy considered the assertions, but finally shook her head. “I’ll risk it,” she said. “We need to know what he knows and this might be our best chance to get that kind of information.”

As Buffy hoisted the man over her shoulder, all the while discussing the new arrangements with the Watchers, Spike kept a wary eye on the other woman. This one had a story, and when it came time for the Slayer to hear it, Spike wanted to be there. Something nagged at his gut that it might be important to him. He just wished he could put his nose on what it was that was so familiar about her.


	19. For Whose Dear Love I Rise and Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CLI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Willow returned to the scene and set the dead vigilante on fire when the magic overwhelmed her, Spike and Giles captured Oz, and Buffy has decided to take Graham hostage in order to learn what he knows, against Havi’s and Spike’s better judgment…

It wasn’t the best scenario but nobody could think of anything better. Well, Spike had come up with alternate ideas, but first Giles and then Buffy nixed them all as not being humane enough. In the end, they just chained Graham up in the bathtub with the intent of letting him stew until morning. Then, they could interrogate him a little more thoroughly.

“Still think you’re makin’ a mistake,” Spike said to her when they walked back out to Giles’ living room. “Bloke like that isn’t goin’ to talk. He’s got more testosterone than brains, which means whoever he works for has him by the balls.”

“We won’t know that until we try,” Giles said.

“And what do you do with him when he doesn’t give you what you want?” Spike shot back. He whirled away from Buffy to stand nose to nose with the Watcher, not angry but determined to make his point. He pointed off to the bathroom. “You let him go and he’s goin’ to run back to whoever it is who’s after Oz and spill everything he’s found out about Buffy and your little operation. That what you want? Think about it for a second, Rupert. Remember what it took for _you_ to crack when Angelus was all about his damn rock? Are you prepared to take it that far? Because, mark my words, you’ll have to.”

“We won’t know,” Giles repeated. His eyes flashed at the memories Spike was stirring up, and Buffy stepped forward to grab the vampire’s arm before things started getting even uglier.

“Let’s go,” she said, and started dragging him toward the door. “I’ve had enough of these fights for one day.”

“What are your plans?” Wesley said.

“Sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.” She felt Spike’s curious gaze upon her, but for the moment, Buffy ignored it. Nothing had been discussed about how things were going to work between them; she knew he was dying to know where he stood. She just wished she could tell him exactly.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” she added. “I’ll skip my---.”

“No, you won’t.”

Spike’s intervention surprised her. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You’re not skipping out on your classes to watch that wanker in the tub sit in stone silence.” His eyes were steady on hers. “The Watchers can hold their own on quizzing him until after your schedule’s freed up.”

“It won’t hurt if I just skip the one class,” Buffy countered.

“Yeah, it will. It’s bad enough you’re goin’ to miss out on next term because of the baby. Don’t be messing up what you’ve got on this one.”

Behind them, Giles cleared his throat. “As much as it pains me to do so,” he said, “I have to agree with Spike on this, Buffy. There’s no reason for you to miss any class time. Wesley and I are more than capable of extracting what information we can. In fact, it’s probably better if we keep you out of the loop as much as possible. Since this Graham hasn’t actually regained consciousness enough to see your direct involvement, if we can keep that a secret from him, so much the better.”

Spike had started nodding halfway through Giles’ speech. “Right,” he said. “Who’s to say they might not decide to change their menu a bit and add Slayer as a main course? Best to stay out of it for as long as you can, luv. It’s safer that way.”

She got it then. That didn’t mean she liked it.

Grabbing his arm, Buffy pulled Spike out the door, calling out a good night to the Watchers as she shut it behind them. Then, she let him go and folded her arms over her chest.

“We need to talk,” she said. He watched her, blue eyes so intent, without saying a word while she fumbled for her next. “You can’t be doing this all the time, Spike,” she finally managed.

“Doin’ what?”

“Trying to protect me from…from… _everything_. I’m not a china doll that’s going to break just because I’m pregnant.”

“I know that. But things have changed, Buffy, whether you want to ‘fess to it or not. This isn’t just about you any more.”

“You think this is about _us_?”

Spike shook his head and took a step closer. His eyes fell to her stomach, and he carefully began ghosting his hand over the fabric of her top. “This is about the little one,” he said. “You’re so used to tilting at windmills without so much as a thought of the risk to _you_. Sure, you do what you can to protect your friends, and that’s all well and good, but what about this one?” He pressed his palm to the flat of her belly, and lifted his eyes to hers so that she could see the sincerity shining in the blue. Fear, too. Beneath it all, Spike was afraid. “For the next few months, you’re takin’ this one with you every time you step into battle. And I’m not sayin’ you can’t do it, ‘cause I know you can. I’m just sayin’ you have to be smarter about it. Rules are all different for you now. You really want to risk losing what we made because you’re too proud to accept a little help?”

His words cut, not from any cruelty on his part, but from the truth they contained. Turning away before he could see the shame in her face, Buffy started heading out to the street. “Let’s get you home, Spike.”

“It’s not like I need a chaperone, luv,” he said, falling into step beside her. Thank god he wasn’t pressing the issue. “Let me walk you to campus, and---”

“No. I…” She swallowed, embarrassed at how nervous she felt in regards to what she was about to ask. “It’s just that…last night was the first good night’s sleep I’ve had in awhile, and…there’s still so much for us to talk about, but I don’t want to bother Willow.”

His hand slipped into hers, cutting her off. And though the flesh was cooler, and the skin a bit more calloused, the familiarity of the feel of it against hers was all Buffy needed to feel some of the fluttering in her stomach settle down.

“My place, it is,” Spike said softly.

She sighed in relief.

* * *

“Do step away from the window, Wesley,” Giles said crossly. “If Buffy were to see you---.”

“They’ve just left.” Letting the corner of the curtain fall back into place, Wes was thoughtful as he moved to the couch. “Perhaps we were too hasty to dismiss Lydia’s assumptions,” he mused out loud. “After tonight---.”

“Dear Lord,” Giles muttered. The glass from his whiskey decanter clinked as he shoved the stopper back into place. “Not you, too.”

“You have to admit, William’s aid was quite instrumental in locating Oz. If it weren’t for him---.”

“Will you stop calling him that?” Wesley stiffened at the harsh tone of the other Watcher’s voice. “His name is _Spike_. The moment we forget that will be the moment he takes advantage and kills us all in our sleep.”

He could see Giles didn’t actually believe what he was saying. That was why he was being so abrupt. Spike was slowly tearing down everything Rupert believed about him, although perhaps, it had begun far before the vampire’s arrival in Sunnydale. Personally, Wesley believed it had begun the moment Giles had met the human William. Lydia had confessed the extent of her correspondences with her fellow Watcher while she’d been traveling with Spike; it made perfect sense for him to be so blustery regarding his desperation to cling to his last shreds of so-called tenets.

Still, it didn’t mean he had to deliberately antagonize the man. Better to keep relations civil until some of the recent changes in his life were less…explosive.

“What time do you wish for me to arrive in the morning, then?” Wesley asked, gathering together his belongings. “I’d imagine you’d like an early start.”

“I have something else I’d like for you to do instead,” Giles said.

“Oh?”

“After tonight’s events, it’s crucial that we pay even closer to teaching Willow how to control the magic. I’d like for you to consult with Esme tomorrow and outline a program that we can implement straight away.”

Wesley nodded. “Yes, that’s probably best. I’ll ring you when we’ve finished.” Stepping to the door, he paused in the entrance when another thought struck him. “When are you planning on meeting that Miss Aronowicz again? Didn’t she say she’d call tomorrow as well?”

“Yes,” Giles said, distractedly. “It would appear that my schedule tomorrow will be quite full.” With a heavy sigh, he downed the tumbler of whiskey he held in his hand.

Bidding his good night, Wesley slipped from the flat as quickly and unobtrusively as he could. It wasn’t that he was eager to get to his responsibilities with Esme, but with Rupert in his current mood, it was better to be quit of him until it improved. There was much to absorb, not the least of it, Willow’s unexpected response to her newfound powers. He felt quite sorry for the young girl, though the creativity she exhibited with the magic was quite---.

He shook the thought away. No, the magic was detrimental to Willow, and it was wrong to be fascinated by how it could be harnessed. Better to get her into a place where she could happily co-exist with it, without it gaining the upper hand. She deserved that. He just had to ensure that Esme remained under their control during the process.

* * *

He hated this town with all the ferocity of a thousand fiery suns. Outside of killing any number of the demons that populated the Hellmouth---and how in hell did so many stupid demons survive with a Slayer so near?---Baltozar couldn’t find anything of worth to keep him occupied. The only organized gambling he’d been able to find was run by a wrinkled demon with a kitten fetish, and he didn’t really like the idea of consorting with the creatures he killed in his free time. The old witch and Havi were the only people he knew, and while he would’ve loved being able to take his girl out, she couldn’t seem to stick around long enough for him to do so.

That left Esme. And Baltozar wasn’t quite so desperate yet to drop unannounced on the bitch at her hotel, just so he’d have someone to talk to.

So, when he heard the door creak open, and the soft thud of Havi’s shoes to the floor as she slipped them off her feet, he leapt from the bed to bolt for the front room, both eager for her company and angry that she left him hanging so.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he said, glaring at her from the entrance to the hall.

Havi jumped from where she’d been about to creep into the kitchen. “You’re awake,” she said, her eyes wide.

Determined, he strode forward and yanked her arm, forcing her to show him her palms. There were no new marks, no new scratches or bruises on her bare skin, yet she wore the clothes she normally chose when she worked.

But she didn’t have a job any more. The seer was dead. What the fuck was she doing here on the Hellmouth?

With a frown, Havi pulled her hand away from him, taking a step backward so that he’d have to reach in order to do it again. “”What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did something happen while I was out?”

He could see the genuine fear in her eyes, hear the concern for him in her voice. Guilt lanced through Baltozar. He detested deceiving her in this fashion. She didn’t realize the extent of what he knew about her, how Esme was convinced that Havi knew the location of the Slayer artifacts; as far as she was aware, he only wanted to come to the Hellmouth to scavenge for secrets the seer had alluded to her in her belongings.

“Nothing happened,” he assured quietly. When he reached forward this time, it was to cup his hand around her hip. He didn’t pull her to him, though. Instead, he stepped forward, and nuzzled his face in her neck, smelling the earthy tones of her sweat and dirt mingling on her skin. “I don’t get to see you any more,” he complained in a mild tone. “Do you have any idea how boring this town is?”

He felt rather than saw her smile, and her strong hands slid beneath his shirt to rake nails along his back. His cock jumped at the contact, and his mouth opened automatically, his teeth latching onto the sinew of her shoulder through her shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he heard her whisper, and then her mouth was busy doing other things, other more delightful things like biting at his ear and kissing along his neck.

“Make it up to me, then,” Baltozar growled.

He was half-kidding, but she slid down his body with a determination that made him wonder if he was the only one feeling guilty. When her teeth nipped at his abdomen, though, and her fingers flew to undo his belt in record time, he tossed the questions away. He wasn’t a fool. He fucking loved her blow jobs.

Her mouth slid over his throbbing cock with a hunger that made his thighs quake. Dropping his hands to her head, Baltozar guided her motions, tilting his gaze down to watch her slide up and down his length, taking more and more in with every swallow until he could feel the tip inching into her throat. Her blunt nails scratched at the back of his legs, and for a moment, he feared they would buckle. But her strength added to his, holding him up, and he was left panting as she swallowed him down.

“Havi…” he breathed. This was probably one of the few times he wished she’d grow her hair out like he kept asking her to; there was nothing he loved more than being able to knot his hands in long, curly hair.

Except then it wouldn’t be her. And frankly, he wouldn’t have her any other way.

All of a sudden, it wasn’t enough. As hot and succulent her mouth was, Baltozar wanted to feel her wrapped around his entire body, to remember what it was he had to look forward to when he finally got her away from the Hellmouth.

When she slid down, her tongue swirling around the head of his cock, he pushed at her shoulders to get her off, crouching to push her back to the floor. For a moment, he thought she was going to fight him, but when their eyes met, understanding flared in hers, and the corner of her mouth lifted. She still slithered away from his touch, though, and instead got to her knees.

“Wait,” she instructed, her voice rough with desire.

So, he waited. And he watched as she peeled off her shirt, her full breasts springing free. Her nipples were hard, and with their gazes locked, she deliberately cupped them in her hands, running her thumbs over the tips.

“Fuck waiting.”

And the fight began.

They grappled and tore at the remainder of their clothing, catching skin, catching hair, leaving bruises as each fought to gain the upper hand. Havi was the one to finally press Baltozar into the floor, though he smiled up at her when she did so, and with a desperate dive, sank onto the length of his cock.

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Let’s get out of this place.”

Havi froze with him still embedded deep inside. “What?” she panted.

Sitting up, Baltozar wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest. “I hate this town. Let’s leave. Now. Fuck what we thought we’d find.”

He meant it. In that second, he’d never wanted anything more.

Slowly, she began to fall and rise on his cock, her eyes clouding. “I thought…we had a purpose.”

“You’re my purpose.”

Her mouth met his at that, and there were no more words as they kissed, their bodies continuing the rhythm, driving the thoughts of departure from his mind. When she came, squeezing around his cock and crying out his name, Baltozar had already forgotten the suggestion he’d made. There was no reason to leave. He could have it all, with Havi at his side.

* * *

Buffy surprised him by remaining mute the entire walk to the hotel, seemingly content to just hold his hand. It wasn’t until Spike was standing in front of his room, searching his duster pockets for the card key, before she spoke again.

“I’ve missed this, too,” she murmured.

“What? Spending the night at a no-tell motel with a handsome bloke?” he teased.

He was rewarded with a smile. “Our walks.” Turning, Buffy looked back at the way they’d come in, her eyes distant. “It’s nice being able to…forget, even if it’s just for a few minutes.”

Pushing the door open, Spike stepped aside so that Buffy could enter first, his head tilted toward the darkness of the interior as he watched the moonlight glisten in her hair. “It’s not just that, is it?” he couldn’t help but ask.

Maybe he’d let his voice betray too much emotion, because she stiffened and looked back. “Not just what?”

“An escape.” He couldn’t hold her eyes, and if she wasn’t going to go inside, he wouldn’t stand around and wait like a fool. Except his feet refused to move. “Bein’ with me…asking to come back…it’s not so you can pretend you’re back in the dreams, is it? That you want all this to be a fantasy you can turn on and off at your will?”

“No.” She said it with no hesitation. “The dreams were great and all, like mini-vacations without having to worry about jet lag. But reality’s better.” She stepped into the room, flicking on the light to bathe the interior in gold. “Reality doesn’t go away when you need it the most.”

He followed her in, watching her carefully as he shrugged out of his coat. “I’m just goin’ to clean up a bit,” he said. He swiped at the blood that had dried on his face. “Must look a fright to you.”

“OK.”

But she wasn’t really paying much attention to him anyway, lost in her thoughts as she crawled onto the bed and reached for the remote control. Spike knew she had a lot to process from tonight, but the casualness of her attitude stung slightly. If it had been back in the day, he thought as he stepped into the bathroom, she would’ve been all over William with the TLC.

He kept the door just slightly ajar, enough to be able to see her if he leaned forward a bit, but not enough so that he’d feel self-conscious with her watching him. It was enough that she was here, wasn’t it? Already, it was so much more than what he’d expected in coming to Sunnydale, but still, somewhere in the dark recesses of his heart, he wanted more. He wanted the same attention she’d showered on William--- _no, me, she showered it on me_ \---but he knew that was a pipe dream. Here, she had other distractions, she had other responsibilities, and now there was a baby on the way. Did he really want her to deprive their child of the attention it needed because he was a selfish bastard?

A very tiny part of him said yes.

His head was bowed, his eyes unfocused on the water in the sink before him, when the door was nudged open a little further to bump painlessly into his side.

“How do you fix up your face when you can’t see your own reflection?” Buffy asked, her head tilted so that she could better see him.

“Used to have Dru do the bad ones for me,” he said. “But live with a face for a century and you stop needing to see it any more.”

She took a step closer and picked up the washcloth from the counter. “Let me.”

He didn’t move, just stood there and closed his eyes as the rough terry scraped over his cheek. She was being gentle, but the pain he was feeling wasn’t any fault of Buffy’s.

_I_ am _a selfish bastard._

“We’re going to have to get you a decent first aid kit,” she was saying. The cloth disappeared from his face and he heard the soft splashing as she rinsed it out in the water. “Have you thought about where you’re going to live? You can’t really stay here. It’ll probably get really expensive.”

His lashes parted as he turned to look at her in amazement. Spike’s mind raced as he replayed all their conversations of the day. Had he said anything to her about his plans?

“Some,” he admitted carefully. “Not too much, ‘cause, well, been a bit distracted with Red and her wolf and all.”

“Wesley and I were talking while you and Giles were bringing Oz back.”

That couldn’t be good. His brow quirked as he waited.

“He’s going to be sticking around Sunnydale for awhile this time. He was wondering what I thought about the two of you being roommates.”

He couldn’t help it. He laughed.

Buffy pulled away with a frown. “What’s so funny? I thought it was a great idea.”

“Big Bad splitting flat fare with a Watcher?” he said, still chuckling. “You don’t find that the least bit ironic, pet?”

“Not any more than the Big Bad being in love with the Slayer,” she replied, her voice firm.

His laughter faded, though his smile didn’t. She was a smart one, his girl.

“It’s just something to think about,” she continued. “I don’t know how much money you have to spend. It sounded like a good way to save some.”

Now, he was convinced he must’ve said something without realizing; these were some of the same thoughts he’d been having prior to Harris’ surprise arrival at Buffy’s dorm.

“Sounds like you’re tryin’ to nine-to-five me,” he said, his tone neutral.

“No, it’s just…” She was rinsing out the cloth again, only this time there had been nothing on it. “My mind’s been all the way to Timbuktu and back today. I can’t seem to turn it off, and when I start thinking about the future, and the baby, and what am I thinking I can do this.”

She stopped talking when his fingers curled around hers in the sink, prising them apart to release the terry she held hostage. “Need to stop with that for tonight, I think,” Spike said. “It’s been a long day, and you’ve got to be knackered.”

“Yeah.” Buffy sighed, hesitating a moment before closing the space between them to rest her cheek against his chest. “You know how I said earlier we needed to talk?”

Spike froze. Damn. He’d thought they were past that.

“Maybe… _I_ could just talk?” Her fingers were toying with the hem of his shirt. “I just need to…vent. Get all this out so it doesn’t drive me crazy.”

Her words smoothed over the knots in his stomach. “Course, luv,” he said. He smiled when her arms went around his waist. Some things might change, but the stuff that mattered…it all stayed the same.

* * *

They ended up on the bed, Buffy lying on her back staring up at the textured ceiling, Spike on his side next to her as he listened to her talk for what felt like hours. For the first time since she’d returned to Sunnydale, Buffy didn’t put a filter on her words, letting them spill forth with growing speed, reveling in merely being able to free them from the confines of her worried heart.

She spoke of her fear for Willow, and her guilt at not recognizing the problem sooner. She spoke of wondering how she was going to juggle school and being pregnant, and mused on how soon she would be able to go back. She even spoke of fear about what would happen after, where she would live, how her slaying would fit in to the grand scheme, how she could possibly be expected to choose between a sick baby and the next apocalypse.

And Spike listened, as he had listened during the dreams when she’d been so wrapped up in Angel’s departure and thought it was all due to her inadequacies, and though he occasionally offered a phrase or three that guided her thoughts into new directions, he mostly remained silent. He just let her be.

At some point, Spike’s hand found its way to her stomach, slipping beneath her top and waistband to rest against her skin, his thumb absently stroking every now and again as he listened. When Buffy finally stopped speaking, her head surprisingly clear, she reached down and settled her hand over his.

“You keep doing this,” she mused, her voice low.

She felt him tense beneath her touch, and his fingers froze. “Sorry,” he said. “Just…hard for me to believe it happened. Touching you makes it real for me.”

“And you were the one worrying about me using this as an escape,” she teased. When he started to pull away, she turned and caught the darkening of his eyes before he had the chance to hide it. “I was kidding. Sometimes, Buffy does make a funny, you know.”

“Buffy does more than that,” Spike murmured.

He seemed lost, as if her words had found a new home inside his head and chosen to weigh down his spirits instead. It wasn’t the effect she’d wanted, and a flash of self-reproach killed the smile that had been playing on her lips. “What are you thinking about?” she prompted.

It took a moment for him to respond. “Us,” he finally confessed, and this time, he didn’t stop as he rolled onto his back. “It’s not so easy as just showing up on your doorstep and sayin’, ‘Use me,’ now is it? There’s all this shit I’ve never given a toss for, but if I don’t…”

His voice faltered.

“If you don’t…what?” Buffy prompted.

“I lose you.” She saw his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, and she would’ve sworn his eyes were shiny before he closed them. “I lose what little I’ve got because you aren’t goin’ to stand for me mucking things up.”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. He worried about incidents like the one with the vigilantes he’d killed the night before, and his suggestion to kill Graham as well. “Just the fact that you’re worried about those kind of things,” she said softly, “shows how far you’ve already come, Spike. You think I don’t see that?”

“But there’s goin’ to be more,” he pressed. “You’re right about the flat idea, but that’s not goin’ to be all. What about dosh to get things for the little one? And a car. I’m not hoofing it around town like some twopenny vamp, and you’re goin’ to need something reliable for doctor’s appointments and the like. That means wheels, which means more dosh---.”

“Which means, we’ll figure it out when we have to.”

He looked at her then, his eyes stormy and hopeful. “We?”

Buffy smiled. “I thought I made it clear, I need you around, Spike. Sounds like a we to me.”

Slowly, deliberately, his gaze lowered to fix on her mouth. Buffy’s breathing hitched, and her body began to warm from more than the lack of air conditioning in the hotel room. Together, they moved closer, closer, closer still until their lips brushed across the other’s, a whisper that could’ve been stolen from never-forgotten dreams in London.

“Don’t go home tonight,” Spike murmured without pulling away.

“Wasn’t going to,” she replied.

She felt him smile before kissing her again, this time deeper though just as slow. It tickled in a spot deep inside her belly, a spot that hadn’t been reached since the early days of Angel---and _those_ thoughts got shoved so quick to the world of not-going-there that she ended up breaking the caress, stuttering across his mouth to roll on top of him before either of them could change their mind.

As Spike wrapped his arms around her narrow back, holding her firmly against him as he resumed the kisses, she wondered if this was how she’d envisioned this night turning out all along. Did she really think she’d come back to his hotel and they wouldn’t end up entwined in each other? Stuck fast, beating heart to unbeating heart, with the third, tiny heart pulsing away inside her. There was everything so right about this, like there had been when she’d laid with William in a bed unfamiliar but _theirs_ , and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to relinquish the question of just _how_ right. If she did that, did that mean she had to tell Spike she loved him? Did she?

It wasn’t the time for that. He’d been back in town for less than two days; there was plenty of time stretching ahead of them for Buffy to come to that decision. All she had to do right now was enjoy the peace that being with him gave her.

And the pleasure. Because, oh man, was there ever pleasure.

With his hands stroking her back, hers were free to explore the sharp planes of his body, to etch again the way his waist tapered into slim hips, that same dip in his pelvis that had been William’s as well. The buttons of his jeans defied her fingers, however, refusing to give until she was convinced she’d have to rip them off in order to get to the hardness beneath.

He stopped stroking her spine long enough to slide a hand between their torsos, brushing hers away to nimbly free himself from the denim’s confines. Not once did his mouth leave hers. It was as if Spike was frightened that breaking the seal of their lips would be all that was required to shatter the spell between them. _Not now_ , she wanted to assure him. But that would’ve required speaking. And Buffy was done talking for the night.

He pushed at her clothes, while she pulled at his, and it wasn’t soon enough before bare flesh was pressed to bare flesh, each heating in its own way, his borrowed, hers rampant from within. When he suddenly reversed their positions, Buffy sank into the pillows as her legs spread to accommodate the insistent press of his cock against her folds. Only then did Spike stop devouring her lips long enough to pull away.

“Whatever it takes,” he whispered. Though his eyes were black with desire, a faint glow seemed to circle the pupils, and Buffy wasn’t sure if it was a reflection from the lamp or something else entirely.

“Whatever what takes?” she whispered back. Speaking louder would’ve just been wrong.

“To make this work.” She couldn’t breathe from the desperate truth in his tone. “I’ll do it. I’d bloody well shack up with Harris if I thought that was the only way to prove it to you.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me, Spike.”

“Do. You and the little one.”

She smiled. She couldn’t help it. Something about the way he kept calling it the ‘little one’ was just too warming not to respond to.

“You know Xander’s living in his parents’ basement now.”

Spike rolled his eyes. “Figures. That boy seriously needs to get shagged. Give him a bite of what the real world is like.”

Wrapping her legs around his hips, Buffy captured his mouth in a quick kiss before murmuring, “Can we stop talking about Xander now? It’s a little bit of a mood-killer.”

He growled when she ground her slick slit against his probing cock. “Not the kind of killin’ I prefer,” he said, and then sheathed himself in a single stroke.

Buffy gasped as he held there, her clit pressing deliciously against his coarse hair, his balls hanging heavy against the crack of her ass. Then, his mouth dipped to nibble at the spot below her ear, all delicate and attentive in a manner that was both William and Spike. _One and the same_ , part of her wanted to say. But not.

And she could spend a lifetime trying to sort out the things that were the same, and the things that were different, but then she knew that would be a waste of effort she could expend elsewhere.

They began moving almost at the same time, and Buffy realized on the first stroke that he was deliberately holding back on her. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispered as his tongue traced nonsense along her neck. She tightened her grip around him, both in and out, and was rewarded with a groan.

“Don’t want to hurt you,” he answered. _Or the baby_ went unsaid, but they both knew it was out there.

“You won’t.”

Tangling her fingers in the curls at his nape, she tugged his mouth back to hers. There was no more need for speaking; this was a conversation their bodies could recite with only the softest of prompts, and the last thing Buffy wanted was to interrupt it.

When she felt the quivering, she thought for a second that it was her, but then Spike pushed himself up, not missing the rhythm of sliding in and out of her heat, and held his weight propped on his hands as he seemed to fight for control. Her hands came up to press to his chest, and there it was again, the quivering, muscles spasming, not from over-exertion but from something else she was scared to put a finger on.

Their eyes met. He didn’t say the words, but she could see them there anyway, half-formed on kiss-swollen lips, waiting for permission to fall. And in spite of her assurances otherwise, he had only slightly increased the force of his thrusts. Spike was doing it for her, and the responsibility was both crushing and uplifting all at the same time.

Her orgasm came unexpectedly. It wasn’t earth-shattering, and the ripples as her pussy clenched and unclenched around his cock dissipated just seconds later, but Buffy cried out from the pleasure of it anyway, the name spilling from her mouth caught in half-gasp so that even she was unsure that she’d actually said out loud.

Spike hesitated, a shadow crossing his features. “He’s not here, Buffy,” he said slowly. “This is _me_ , makin’ love to you. You’re the one who said it, remember.” He paused, and she knew it was eating him to have to say the next. “I’m not William.”

Regret sliced through her. “I was wrong,” she whispered, and pressed her heated palm over the trembling muscles of his chest. “He’s here. Where it counts.”

It took the longest moment for it to sink in, but when it did, the joy that lit up his face erased all traces of the pain. Slowly, Spike lowered his upper body back down to hers, resuming the sure piston of his hips as his mouth swooped to taste hers, and Buffy sighed into the kiss as the liquid heat between her legs started to escalate. The next orgasm was hers again, but her pang of guilt was short-lived as his followed quickly after, and she held him close as he murmured words she couldn’t make out into her skin.

He recovered from the swell of poetry with rapid ease. “Don’t think this means I’m goin’ to let you sleep through your class in the morning,” he teased as he extracted himself from between her lithe legs. Rolling onto his back, he pulled her close against his chest, using his other hand to tug the blanket up to cover her.

“Darn,” Buffy said. “And here I thought I could use my feminine wiles to keep you too distracted to notice.” She stifled the yawn that seemed to come from nowhere.

Spike chuckled. “Tempting, but rather not lose more points with your mum and the others than I already have.” His lips brushed against her temple, his ever-moving hand already lulling her muscles into acquiescence. “Get some rest, pet. Morning will be here before you realize it.”

Letting her eyes drift shut, Buffy made a small sound of protest deep in her throat, but the possessive curve of her arm around his waist told both of them it was merely lipservice. As long and wiggy as the day had been, and as long and wiggy as the next few would likely be, falling asleep on Spike’s chest made it seem manageable. He was right. She’d sort everything out in the morning.


	20. I Have Looked on Truth Askance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CX.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Everyone has retired for the night after capturing Graham…

Any morning in which he woke up with Buffy in his arms was a good one, Spike decided. It didn’t even matter that she was out of bed a moment later, making apologies for having to skip out and leave him alone. He’d woken up to a warm body, not a note. That was progress.

“…enough time to get changed for class,” she was saying.

Lacing his fingers together behind his head, Spike laid back to watch her run the brush through her hair, quick and casual and completely at ease around him, even if she wasn’t paying him any extra attention. “This goin’ to be a habit?” he asked.

“What?”

“Spending the night. Might be worth leaving some of your kit with me so that you don’t have to rush off so quick in the morning.” He grinned. “’Course, seein’ you without your kit on is good, too.”

Buffy was already shaking her head before he finished. “I can’t,” she said. “There’s school, and the fact that Mom keeps reminding me how much money she’s paying for me to live in the dorms, and we won’t even talk about how _you’re_ living in a hotel at the moment.” She paused in mid-stroke, turning away from the mirror over the dresser to look at him. “How long do you think you’ll stay here?”

Spike shrugged. “Dunno.”

Chewing at her lip, she turned away, and he watched her in the reflection while she weighed her next words. “Maybe you should go talk to Wesley today,” she said. “You could talk to him about what he’s planning.” The next came out in a rush. “Just for ideas, of course. Since you’re both in the same boat, what with the motel no-tell lifestyle choices. Just because I brought it up last night doesn’t mean I expect you two to be sharing paddles or anything like that.”

A single brow shot up. “Don’t tell me you fancy me takin’ a paddle to the Watcher,” he drawled. “Though, considering the new look Red was tellin’ me he has, maybe he’s a gimp in Watcher’s clothing. He’d probably get off on it.”

“OK, first of all, ewww. Thinking of Watchers getting off is just a world of wrong. And second, Wesley doesn’t even have a limp.”

It took him a moment to realize how she’d misunderstood him. “That’s not---,” he started, and then stopped. He could be spending a lifetime explaining British slang to her if he so chose. Better to just leave it alone and let her ask about it if she wanted to know.

“We’ll see,” he said instead. “Gotta get myself sorted out with blood first. Left all my supplies at your place.”

Finishing pulling her hair back, Buffy nodded. “I better go,” she said, and was halfway to the door before stopping and rushing back to his side to drop a quick kiss to his lips.

Spike grabbed her wrist to pull her against him, ignoring her feeble protest as he deepened the kiss, forcing her to respond with more than the cursory goodbye she’d been about to grant him. He was still floating from what she’d said to him in the night, accepting him into her life as easily as she’d allowed William, recognizing that the git was still a part of him as much as he might hate to admit it at times. All would be well with the world, now that he had that from her. He didn’t care what it decided to throw at him next.

“I gotta go,” Buffy repeated. She pushed him with more force than he expected, breaking his hold and slithering off and away before he could stop her. “I’ll call you later,” she promised as she grabbed her bag by the door.

Then, she was gone. And as high as Spike had been with her in his arms, a faint bruising threatened his good mood before he shoved the traitorous thoughts away.

She was in a hurry. That was all. There wasn’t anything more to her quick departure than just that.

There wasn’t.

* * *

Light of day always made things seem different. It was easy to accept monsters when they were just dark patches against darker sky, when they vanished into dust the moment she killed them. And she was all right with their intrusions into her real life, too. She might not like it, but Buffy was well aware that monsters lurked in the sun just as easily as they did beneath the moon. They were just a different kind.

It was the everyday, run-of-the-mill things that were the most terrifying lately. Things like unexpected pregnancies, and unresolved feelings, and men who made vows to her that she wasn’t sure how to deal with. OK, one man. One vampire, rather. Just when she thought she might start coming to grips with it, some other bumper car of a problem came up and slammed into her from the side and sent her in a whole new, uncertain direction.

Being with Spike in the dark was simple. It was simple to accept the William part that she understood now knew still lurked inside him when it was just him and her. No pretenses, no reason for them to try so hard. She could almost tell him she loved him when it was just them in the dark.

But when she’d woken to that unmoving chest beneath her cheek, and swallowed against the nausea she now knew was morning sickness, it became much more real. Harder. Was there _anyone_ in her life who wasn’t upset by Spike’s new presence? Willow, maybe, but Willow was having huge issues of her own, so Buffy knew she couldn’t rely on her for moral support.

That left Xander, Giles, and her mom. Not one of them had been overjoyed when they’d heard the truth, and Xander had still to learn about the baby. How would she be able to face the disappointment in those puppy dog eyes when he discovered the truth? Would he go to Spike while the vampire slept and stake him to free his friend from the responsibility of doing it later? Would he ever be able to look at the baby she carried with anything but contempt because he knew who the father was?

Her head ached from all the questions. Her heart ached from being unable to give Spike everything he was looking for, everything that William deserved. Buffy just ached.

Her eyes were downcast when she pushed her dorm room open, keeping it as quiet as possible in order not to disturb Willow. She was startled, then, when a different redhead glanced up at her from the other bed, smiling gently before returning to the book spread out before him.

“Willow’s in the shower,” Oz said.

“Oh.” Relief flooded through her that no comment was made regarding her appearance, but then again, this was Oz. He wouldn’t have said something about it anyway. For a moment, guilt stabbed at her selfish thoughts from earlier. She wasn’t the only one having a hard time of it currently. “How are you?”

“OK.” He held up his arm, and Buffy saw the white of a gauzy bandage poking from beneath his sleeve. “Willow patched me up.”

“Good. It was kind of a rough night.”

She was rummaging around in her closet when he spoke again.

“Xander told me what happened.”

Though she stiffened at the reminder, Buffy maintained her calm façade as she pulled out a clean blouse. “What exactly did he tell you?”

“All of it.” He paused. “Did you know about Willow?”

His tone remained neutral, but the mere fact that he’d broached the subject at all told Buffy how deeply it affected him. “No,” she admitted. “How is she this morning?”

“Shaken. A little stirred.”

“Giles said they’re going to start right in with the meditations and everything to help her deal with it. That should help.”

“Yeah. Hopefully. How’s Spike?”

The question threw her off-guard, and Buffy dropped the skirt she’d just been debating on. “Why are you asking about Spike?” This time, she looked back to see Oz regarding her.

“Xander said he brought me in. Since I got this…” He lifted his arm to indicate his injury. “…it makes sense he probably got a scratch or two.”

“Nothing major. One on his face but that was mostly gone when I left him this---.” She cut herself off, turning away as embarrassment flared in her cheeks.

“Would you do me a favor?”

“Sure,” she said, jumping at the opportunity to shift the focus away from her.

“Tell Spike thanks for me. That’s two I owe him.”

Like a fish, her mouth opened and closed to reply, but the words failed her. She was relieved when the door opened and Willow walked in, smelling citrus-y fresh and babbling away about the benefits of hot showers in the morning. When she spotted Buffy, the three settled into a facsimile of their usual banter, but each of them felt the awkwardness of their efforts.

Apprehension intruded on their attempts at normalcy, and while Buffy worried about those concerns that might be distracting Willow and Oz, she was even more wrapped up in the confusion swirling around inside her head.

She’d been wrong about not having moral support regarding Spike. For whatever reason, Oz had accepted the vampire’s presence, even going so far as to inquire after his wellbeing. On top of that, he’d accomplished something else for Buffy with his gentle questions, something she hadn’t expected but was surprisingly grateful for.

He reminded her of just how much Spike had given up to be near her on the Hellmouth, how much he was going above and beyond what he’d originally promised to aid in protecting her friends.

Spike didn’t have to do all this. Spike was _choosing_ to do all this.

And the distinction mattered.

* * *

Though they’d gagged and blindfolded Graham, Giles still found it incredibly offputting to use the bathroom with someone else present, taking little comfort that the young man had been unconscious and therefore unable to hear him when Giles got up from bed to relieve himself. It just meant he had to be extremely quick about it, an action that had proved agonizing at best.

Showering was out of the question, of course. He had to make do with washing up in the kitchen sink until they were finished with Graham.

As he towel dried his hair, Giles couldn’t help but hear Spike’s warning come back to haunt him. _“And what do you do with him when he doesn’t give you what you want?”_ he’d said.

It was a valid question, one which Giles had been too distracted by memories of Jenny and Angelus to pay much heed. But now, in the light of day, with the very real prospect of interrogating the vigilante just minutes away, he couldn’t help but wonder.

He wasn’t a demon, so death was out of the question. Since he was human, he was also bound by human laws, and should he be so inclined, he could very well press kidnapping charges against the lot of them. On the other hand, Oz could easily press his own charges back, so perhaps those would cancel the other out. They wouldn’t know until Graham woke up and starting talking.

A knock at the door broke his reverie, but before he could cross to open it, it flew open and a very much awake Xander stormed inside.

“Why, yes, you _can_ come in,” Giles said dryly as Xander brushed past him to drop a bag of donuts on the counter.

He didn’t even bother with niceties. He launched straight into a diatribe.

“Do I look stupid or something?” Xander demanded. “Because I’m beginning to wonder if that’s how you guys see me and you’re just afraid to let me know. Don’t tell Xander; he just won’t get it. For some reason, I thought we were past all the dopey Xander can’t understand anything crap. What is it about me that means none of you can trust me with the truth? Huh? What is it? Inquiring minds are dying to know.”

Giles frowned. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Buffy hanging out with the Ungrateful Dead, that’s what. And Willow’s trip down the magic brick road. And that both of those are courtesy of your little vacation back to the mother country this summer.”

With a sigh, Giles turned away. He should’ve known that was what was bothering Xander. “Buffy’s…relationship with Spike was not my tale to tell,” he said. “And you were aware of Willow’s problems with magic. We hardly kept you in the dark about that.”

“You didn’t tell me how bad it was. She’s my best friend, Giles. You don’t just hold that kind of information back.”

“We didn’t tell you because we didn’t know. None of us did. Apparently, Willow must’ve believed she could control it.”

“Yeah, well, apparently, Willow was wrong.” He shook his head, reaching for a donut and taking a large bite out of it. “I just can’t believe you let Buffy get involved with Spike,” he said through a mouthful of pastry. “We should just stake him and get him out of our misery.”

“As appealing as I find that proposal, I’m afraid Buffy might be a tad upset with us should we choose to arbitrarily kill the father of her child.”

Donut crumbs spewed from Xander’s mouth, hitting Giles in the face before falling to the floor. “Child?” he choked. “Buffy’s pregnant?”

_Bugger. Buffy didn’t tell him that part._

“She’s only just found out,” Giles said, attempting to rectify what he’d created. “I, myself, only discovered the truth yesterday.”

“She’s pregnant?”

“I’m sorry. I thought you knew. When you were so upset---.”

“She’s pregnant?”

Giles sighed. Xander was just gaping at him in disbelief, crumbs still clinging to his lips. “Yes, for the last time, Buffy is pregnant. And she claims that it’s Spike’s child.”

“But…how? Why?” He paused. “How?”

Handing over the towel to allow Xander to clean himself off, Giles replied, “It’s a long, involved story. One I would prefer Buffy tell you herself.”

“But vampires can’t have kids. If they could, we’d have little baby vampires running around all the time.”

“Spike wasn’t a vampire at the time.”

“…Huh?”

With a shake of his head, Giles turned his back on Xander and walked from the room. “You’ll need to sit, I think. And leave the donuts in the kitchen. I don’t wish to have any more crumbs to clean up.”

* * *

Thankfully, Xander sat silent throughout most of the explanation, only once speaking up to make an offhand observation about a Marty McFly that Giles didn’t completely understand. When Giles was done, he peered at the young man through his glasses, trying to decide whether this stoic response was about to explode into something more violent or if Xander was actually going to accept this in a mature fashion. Frankly, it was impossible to gauge.

“You say you met him?” Xander’s tone was deceptively calm, as if he was lost in thought. “What was he like?”

“Quite personable, actually,” Giles admitted. “A scholar, well-mannered. Rather like Willow, actually, except…male.”

“And you’re sure it wasn’t all hocus pocus courtesy of that witch? She didn’t just make you _think_ you were meeting him?”

“Quite certain. And then there’s the matter of Buffy’s pregnancy test confirming it as well.”

“Right,” he muttered. “The rabbit died. All the proof in the world.”

For a long moment, the silence between them hung in the air like heavy cotton wool, choking Giles and driving him to resume the pacing that had punctuated most of his tale. In the long run, though this was not a task that he would’ve requested nor wished for, he supposed that it was probably best for Xander to learn the story this way as opposed to sitting through Buffy’s emotion-colored version or Willow’s skewed perspective. At least Giles was reasonably unbiased regarding the circumstances, and he _had_ actually met William so could give a proper description of what a human Spike was really like.

“Why?” Xander asked. He was still calm, but his hands were beginning to knot in front of him.

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

_Ay, there’s the rub._

“Things were…complicated.”

“And I’m too stupid to understand, is that it? Everybody graduates and goes off to college, and suddenly, Xander’s too dumb to be in on all the secrets?”

“You’re taking this out of context. Buffy didn’t even tell her mother about what happened in London. Why would she tell you, when you so obviously detest Spike?”

“Maybe because I’m her friend? But I guess that doesn’t count for anything any more. It looks like the only way to get Buffy’s attention is to have a set of fangs and a leather coat.” He rose to his feet, ready to storm out of the apartment, but Giles quickly moved to bar his way.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To talk to Buffy. To try and talk some sense into her. She’s got to be under a spell or something---.”

“There’s no spell,” Giles interrupted. “We ruled out the possibility of that back in London.”

“There’s got to be a reason why she’d turn her back on her friends like this.”

“She hasn’t---,” he started, and then sighed. This line of defensive comments was getting him nowhere. “I understand your feelings are hurt,” he started again, “but Buffy made the choice to keep a great number of people in the dark regarding what exactly happened to her. In fact, until yesterday, the only two who _did_ know were Buffy and Spike. The only reason I found out is because the pregnancy dictated her coming clean. She expressed great concern about making sure you found out as delicately as she could. She wanted to make it as easy for you as possible.”

“Then she should’ve told me as soon as I got back into town.” Xander’s voice was tight with pain.

“She was trying to put it behind her. Spike’s unexpected arrival…changed things.”

Xander’s throat convulsed, his jaw twitching as he tried to find the words that usually flowed so easily. “Why does it sound like you’re OK with all this?” he managed to ask.

“I’m trying to do what’s best for Buffy,” Giles said softly.

“Since when does that mean inviting her vampire boyfriends into our lives? Didn’t we learn that lesson with Angel? And Spike doesn’t even have a soul!”

“I’m very well aware of that, as is Buffy. However, it would seem Spike is determined to prove to Buffy that he’s changed.”

“Into what? Evil is still evil, no matter how he tries to spell it.”

“Perhaps…evil can be…tempered.” He couldn’t believe he’d uttered the words aloud. Though the possibility had been lurking behind his every action over the past few days, Giles had been making a concerted effort from vocalizing it. That made it real, and…he didn’t wish it to be so.

“I’m not pleased with Spike’s presence, either,” he continued. “But Buffy isn’t willing to consider cutting him out of her life just yet, especially with their child on the way, nor does it seem Spike would leave her or the baby behind without a vigorous fight. That doesn’t mean he can’t be useful, though. In all fairness, it’s likely we wouldn’t have discovered Oz in time last night to save him without Spike’s intervention. Add that to the fact that he saved both Willow and Oz the night previous, and you must admit, he could make a formidable ally.”

“Until he gets bored playing nice-nice, you mean,” Xander said. “Because let’s face it, Spike’s the star attraction at Short Attention Span Theater.”

“I’m not saying you have to be his best friend. On the contrary, I think it’s absolutely vital we remain vigilant in watching our backs where he’s concerned. I’m merely suggesting that for Buffy’s sake, for her health and for the child she carries, we do what we must to make this as easy as possible for her. There is much more at stake here than what you presume, Xander. If the Council finds out about her pregnancy---.”

Xander groaned, his shoulders slumping. “Don’t tell me we have to start worrying about those guys again,” he complained.

“I’m afraid so. They hold rather antiquated ideas regarding their Slayers. Combine that with the circumstances of Buffy’s conception, and things could get very uncomfortable around here for her. I’m simply trying to do everything I can to ensure that that doesn’t happen. Unfortunately, that includes cooperating with Spike. For the time being.”

It was the most potent argument Giles knew he could voice. In spite of all his vampire prejudices, Xander would do whatever he must to help Buffy out, and it was that sense of loyalty that Giles was appealing to. Them against the world, as it had been during high school. Solidarity of the right against the wrong. At the heart of it, Xander was still just a young man desperate for peace.

“Just tell me there won’t be any more secrets,” Xander said, the pleading tone of his voice the only concession it would seem he was going to make. “This will be a lot easier if I know I’m not going to be left out of the loop from now on.”

“No more secrets,” Giles assured.

The frustrated tension between them eased, though Giles wasn’t foolish enough to think that Xander wasn’t still upset by the new information. After all, he’d been aware of Buffy and Spike’s relationship for much longer and was only now starting to understand the depths to which it ran. It would take time, but perhaps this was the first step in coalescing the group post-Sunnydale High. Life was offering them different paths, and while it would be incredibly easy for them to diverge, they performed much more effectively and were much stronger both individually and as a whole when they shared the same one. Or at the very least, similar ones.

He hid a smile from Xander as they started to discuss the upcoming interrogation of the vigilante. Perhaps Spike’s fortuitous arrival in Sunnydale could be providential. He strongly suspected William would appreciate the irony.

* * *

With the sun out in full, blazing glory, his options were limited, but Spike had learned this town like the back of his hand the first time he’d made it home; that kind of knowledge didn’t just go poof with the advent of impending fatherhood and recovered memories. With the tunnels and a bit of good old-fashioned William the Bloody tenacity, Spike could get to just about anywhere. 

Except, for some inexplicable reason, any of the entrances to the Watcher’s hotel.

He gazed at it from the shadows across the street, scowling at the swathe of sunshine that blocked his path. He’d stalked the tunnels below for over an hour trying to find a route that would take him closer, but this particular domicile was probably the only soddin’ building in the whole of the Hellmouth without sewer access. The best he could manage was the greasy spoon behind him, but it still kept him a good fifty feet from his intended target.

Spike’s mood was growing fouler with each passing minute.

The day had started well. After Buffy’s departure, he’d had a good wank and then scarpered off to shake down Willy for some blood, smokes, and information, all in that order. The squirrelly barman had been flabbergasted when Spike had come swaggering in as if he’d never left town, but it had taken only the threat of draining Willy dry to get him to start ponying up what the vampire was after. Thirty minutes later, Spike hit the sewers with a promised delivery of daily blood, two cartons of cigarettes in his duster pockets, and the name of the demon who ran one of the most lucrative poker games in the city. Willy wasn’t sure Clem dealt with any cash games, but if Spike had to flog the kittens afterwards for the dosh, so be it.

That just left speaking with the Council prat about looking for new digs. Frankly, the idea of sharing a flat with anyone who wasn’t Buffy made Spike’s skin crawl, but she’d had a point about saving money. Plus, given the choice of which bag of blood and bones he preferred to shack up with, Wesley was nearer the top of the list than either Rupert or Harris. The bloke seemed just a mite more open-minded about Spike’s presence in Sunnydale, not to mention he chose to get around on a motorcycle instead of a beat-up Citroen. That was enough to testify to the Watcher’s potential not to be a complete git.

So, for the sake of his future and the reputation he was determined to hold on to regardless of who he happened to be shagging, Spike had gone off in search of Wesley. And hit the bloody great wall of sunshine.

Whirling on his heel, Spike marched into the diner, shoving the door open so violently that the bell overhead snapped off and went flying through the air. “Should fix that,” he growled at the waitress who turned saucer eyes to stare at him, and then skirted the sunlight-flooded front window to take a booth in the corner.

“What’ll you have?” the waitress asked, stopping a good four feet from the table. Her pencil shook slightly in her hand, and her gaze kept jumping from his coat, to his hair, and to the hands that were at that moment pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Um…you can’t smoke in here.”

He held her gaze as he stuck the cigarette in his mouth and lit it with a quick snap of his lighter. Blowing the smoke in her direction, Spike said, “Burger. Bloody rare. And some of that hot sauce on the side.”

“Anything to drink?”

He gave her his most devilish leer. “I prefer my drinks on tap,” he said, and ran his tongue over the edges of his teeth.

“Water, then,” she said, and snapped her pad shut, scurrying away to leave Spike chuckling in the corner.

He had no intention of hurting her, of course. But it never hurt to stoke what fear and respect he could in the general populace. People were less apt to cross him and thus force him to contemplate going over that imaginary line he’d drawn for himself, if they feared what the result might be.

While he waited for his food to come out, Spike mulled over his options in getting to the Watcher’s room. He was lost in thought when the front door opened again, so he never saw her enter the diner. It wasn’t until the tickle at hearing an English accent in the middle of sunny California pricked at his consciousness that Spike glanced up. And promptly froze.

At the counter, ordering a cheese sandwich to go, was Esme.


	21. The Imprison'd Absence of Your Liberty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LVIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Giles has told Xander about Buffy and Spike, while Spike, in search of Wesley, has caught his first  
> glimpse of Esme…

He had to blink more than once to be sure it was her.

She seemed smaller than he remembered, more frail. Paper-thin skin revealed the blue veins beneath, but contrary to her otherwise brittle appearance, the heart he heard was strong and healthy. Even without her magic, Esme was a force to be reckoned with, though she might look otherwise. Perhaps _because_ she might look otherwise.

She stood amidst a brilliant patch of sunlight that filtered in through the front window, a black hole sucking up the energy surrounding her. As Spike slid from his booth, the leather of his coat squeaked against the worn plastic, and she turned her head toward the sound.

She immediately smiled. And Spike’s skin crawled.

“Bitch,” he muttered, and launched forward without thought, knocking over the overweight trucker sitting at the end of the counter. He flew into the light, and then immediately jumped back when his hands caught on fire, leaving Esme chuckling under her breath, untouched.

“William,” she said with delight, and her voice was exactly as he remembered. From both times of his life. It was disconcerting, like having the same echo repeating at slightly different intervals inside his head. One where she’d offered a hand of friendship, the other where she’d promised him the return of his love. Of course, Spike had assumed that she’d meant Dru at the time, but then both bids had turned out to be based on falsehood. Both parts of him hated the bloody witch.

Then again, both parts of Spike owed her for bringing him Buffy. It was kind of hard to hate that.

He grabbed the towel from the hands of the waitress who’d frozen in mid-swipe of the counter, and wrapped them around the burns on his fingers. “That takeaway better be for the plane trip back to England,” he growled, glaring at the witch.

Her smile widened, and she took a deliberate step further into the sunshine that protected her from him. “You mean you’re not glad to see me?” she commented. “My feelings are hurt.”

“Do you need me to call the police?” the waitress asked Esme, her eyes darting nervously from her to Spike and back again.

“That won’t be necessary,” Esme said.

“Like I couldn’t bloody take the old bill, anyway,” Spike muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“William and I are old friends,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken.

“Oh, _yeah_.” His voice was suddenly too loud. “We go _way_ back. Could say I’ve known the bitch since before she was bloody born.”

The waitress looked disbelieving, but with Spike seemingly held at bay and Esme’s apparent lack of fear, she backed off, watching them warily. “Your sandwich will be up in just a few minutes,” she said.

He was left glaring at the old witch, the pain in his hands just starting to ebb. Leave it to her to hide in plain sight, he thought angrily. He could risk jumping into the sun after her, but he had no doubt he’d be in flames within seconds. “What the hell are you doin’ here?” he demanded instead.

“The same as you. Having lunch.” Her dark gaze flickered over the patrons who were still observing the encounter, even as they pretended to be returning to their meals. “Well, perhaps not the same. I wouldn’t think your Slayer would be very pleased to find out you were snacking on the local population.”

“My…” A sickening sense of dread began to seep into his gut. “Stay the hell away from Buffy,” he growled. “For that matter, stay away from Red, too. You’ve done enough damage.”

Her mirth vanished. “On the contrary,” she said, “ _I’ve_ been victimized just as surely as your love or her young friend. That seer raped me of my powers---.”

“Leave Rose out of this!”

“Don’t tell me you’re siding with her,” Esme chided. “She stole your memories from you, just as she stole my magic. You can’t possibly think that was a good thing, William. You were denied knowing of Buffy for how long? And all because _she_ thought it best.”

In spite of the slight sting of truth in her words, Spike said, “Rose was a good woman.”

Esme shook her head. “Rose was a manipulator, who chose to toy with the lives of people who deserved better.”

“Like you didn’t mess about with me and Buffy. Nice try, but it doesn’t wash.” He paused, the extent of Esme’s statement finally sinking in, and his eyes narrowed. “You said ‘was.’ What makes you think she’s dead?”

“Considering she lived a century ago, I’d say it’s safe to say she isn’t currently tending her garden in the heart of London. She was powerful, not invincible.”

The response came smoothly, without pause. It was logical, something he would’ve expected anyone with half a brain to say, but somehow, Spike couldn’t help but feel that it was just a little too easy. His gut was telling him that she’d had that answer ready, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to use it, and if there was anything he’d learned over the years, it was to trust his first instinct.

“None of this is tellin’ me why you’d show your puss around Sunnydale,” Spike said carefully. He began circling the edge of the sunlight that streamed in through the window, grateful that the sun hadn’t moved enough yet to make the exit unreachable, and stopped just by the door. “And none of this is tellin’ me why I shouldn’t tear your throat out here and now.”

A few of the patrons visibly started at his threat, causing Esme to regard her surroundings and the fact that it would now be impossible for her to leave without passing right by him. “Perhaps we should discuss this in private,” she said.

“Don’t think so,” he said, and took a sprawling seat in the bench by the door. “Rather like doin’ this here. It’ll keep you honest, if that’s possible.”

With a sigh, she turned her back to him. “I don’t understand what your concern is, William. I’m just an old woman, trying to hold on to what little respect she can. Without my magic, I’m perfectly harmless.”

“We both know there’s nothin’ harmless about you---.” The door opening beside him interrupted Spike’s thought, and he glanced up to see Wesley come to a halt just inside the entrance, the Watcher’s eyes widening as they jumped from Spike to Esme and back again.

“Spike,” he said, and then coughed to clear his throat when the single word came out as a squeak. “Spike,” he repeated in a lower voice. “What are you doing here?”

It took only a moment to size up the situation.

“Oh, no,” Spike said, rising to his feet. He jabbed a finger back at Esme, who had turned to watch the exchange with amusement. “ _That’s_ who that prat Travers sent here to help Red? Have you all gone completely daft?”

“Spike, please, let’s not make a scene---.”

“Bit late for that. Did none of you think for a second how Buffy was goin’ to feel about this? Not to mention Red.”

“Willow already knows, and she’s accepted this as necessary.” Wesley’s hand curled around Spike’s elbow, but was thrown backwards against the glass when Spike shook him off. Straightening as if he’d never intended to stumble, Wes lifted his chin. “Might I suggest we go back to my room? We can speak a bit more freely there.”

“Like I told the bitch, I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m not about to let her slip through my fingers again.”

“I assure you, Esme won’t be leaving Sunnydale any time soon. And without her powers, she poses no threat to you, or Buffy, or Willow. There’s really no need for any further retribution.”

“That’s because you weren’t the one on the other end of her magic wand,” Spike muttered.

“If you’d just come with me---.”

“Can’t. Tried that already.” He rolled his eyes at Wesley’s frown. “Was comin’ to see you, all right? But the sewers don’t get any closer to your hotel than right here, so thought I’d kill some time while I waited for the sun to move out of my way.”

“Why were you coming to see me?”

Spike pressed his lips together. He’d hoped to make this look a bit more autonomous. “Something Buffy said to me,” he finally managed.

Understanding relaxed the Watcher’s tight features, and he nodded as if he’d known that was the case all along. “We can still have that discussion, if you wish,” he said. He glanced around the half-full restaurant. “Perhaps over lunch?”

“I’m not lettin’ that bitch outta my sight.”

“Then Esme can join us.”

He didn’t like it, but with the Watcher now around, Spike knew his choices in dealing with Esme were limited. Anything he did would be reported back to Rupert, which meant that it would only take as long as it took him to pick up a phone before Buffy knew, too. He’d been able to get away with killing the vigilantes without too much undue recourse because her friends’ lives were at stake. If he were to take the same freedom with Esme, he wasn’t so sure he’d get the same reception, especially since in so many sets of eyes, the witch really was powerless.

“I’ve already ordered,” he said, stalking around the sunlight to head back to his table. He shot Esme a malicious glare as he passed by. “But there’s always room for what’s not on the menu if I find myself peckish.”

“Let me just make a quick call,” Wesley said behind him.

He turned around and caught the Watcher in mid-flip of his cell phone. “Make sure you tell Rupes I didn’t touch her,” Spike warned. He chuckled when Wesley paled at being found out so readily. “You can tell him, too, that I’m not makin’ any promises I won’t.”

* * *

The three sat in stiff silence while they ate, though Esme’s amusement at the entire situation was too noticeable to be missed. Wesley had lost his appetite long before his food had been served, though he picked at the dry sandwich anyway. Well, truth be told, he hadn’t had much of an appetite before he’d arrived, but seeing Spike so obviously livid at encountering Esme had driven the remainder of it away. It was the worst possible scenario he could’ve envisioned, but he’d talked the vampire down as best he could, relief flooding him when it became obvious Spike wouldn’t attempt anything violent just yet. Even Rupert had seemed impressed, though admittedly, the other Watcher had been extremely distracted by his own awkward situation. The fates were not with them that day, it would seem.

Though Wesley attempted more than once to start a conversation regarding Spike’s purpose in seeking him out, the vampire’s surly responses weren’t exactly conducive to such discourses, most of his comments barely disguised threats aimed directly for Esme. To her credit, she remained unruffled, and when Spike realized he wouldn’t get a rise out of her, he’d promptly lapsed into a sullen silence, leaving Wes wondering just what he thought he could’ve possibly accomplished.

When he saw the vehicle pull up outside the diner, it took all of Wesley’s control not to react to its presence. He cast a sly glance toward Spike and was glad that the vampire was focused on stabbing his untouched burger to a non-dusty death rather than the activity on the street. A reprieve just might be possible, after all.

He didn’t hear the door open, but before he could question why such a middle America establishment didn’t have the proverbial bell over their door, the soft shuffle of footsteps approached the table.

Spike’s head snapped up at the new arrival, and immediately, annoyance clouded his eyes. “Oh, bloody hell,” he muttered. He sprawled back against the seat, shaking his head in disgust as his eyes met Wesley’s. “Decide you needed to bring the boy in to talk me down? Is that it?”

Oz frowned. “I don’t know anything about talking you down,” he said. “Giles called Willow to see how she was doing and mentioned you were stuck. I’m just here to give you a ride if you want it.”

Spike tilted his head as he assessed this calm assertion, his gaze darting back and forth. “Right,” he drawled. “And this has nothin’ to do with me and the witch here.”

“Nope. You ready to go?”

Before Spike could get up, Wesley cleared his throat. “We’re not quite done eating here,” he said. “Perhaps you’d like to join us.”

The roll of the vampire’s eyes and the slight line between Oz’s told Wes he hadn’t been quite as nonchalant as he’d wished, but it didn’t stop Oz from sliding into the booth next to Spike. This wasn’t exactly the aid Wesley had requested from Rupert, but it appeared as if it would work out anyway.

“You eating that?” Oz asked Spike, pointing to the mangled burger.

“Help yourself,” came the reply, accompanied with a push of the plate.

“I don’t believe you’ve met Esme,” Wesley said. His voice was too loud, but he wasn’t sure how to stop that. “Esme, this is Oz, Willow’s…boyfriend. Oz, Esme.”

For a moment, he thought he’d gone too far. Though little actually changed in the young man’s demeanor, Wesley had been around Oz enough to finally be able to tell when he was perturbed. The whitening of his knuckles as he tightened his grip on the burger. The deepening of the line between his brows. In the end, he only gave the witch a curt nod and turned his attention to Spike.

“I owe you some thanks, man,” he said. “That makes two now.”

“Who’s counting?” Spike grinned. “Oh, right, I am.”

“Buffy said you needed to get some wheels.”

“Thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“It might not be much, but Devon knows a guy who doesn’t ask a lot of questions. I could take you to talk to him, if you want.”

“Thanks, mate. When?”

“Something wrong with now?”

Wesley could only watch, dumbfounded, as the two men stood up and Oz handed over his keys to Spike.

“I’m parked around the side,” he said. “I’ll be right out.”

With one last venomous glance at Esme, Spike strolled to the door, hiking his coat over his head before making a dash out in the sunshine.

“I thought---,” Wesley started.

“Save it,” Oz interrupted. “You didn’t really think you’d get anything accomplished with her sitting right across from him, did you?” When Wesley flushed deep red, Oz sighed. “Giles wanted me to tell you to be at his place at six. Willow’s going to be there.”

Esme’s voice stopped him when he started to walk away. “I suppose I should thank you,” she said.

“Don’t.” Though he didn’t move, the brusque tone of his voice conveyed it all. “I’m not going to pretend to like you, but I’m not going to stand in your way, either. Willow needs all the help she can get, and Giles made it clear that nobody understands the magic better than you do.”

“I---.”

“But if you hurt Willow,” he continued, without even so much as blinking, “I’ll be standing right next to Spike when Buffy gives him the green light to come after you. I promise you that.”

Esme smiled, a cold, knowing rictus, and Wesley winced as she refused to let the matter lie. “The Slayer would never allow a vampire to hurt a human. Even if she does love him.”

“Don’t be so sure about that. Buffy’s world isn’t quite so black and white any more.”

The waitress approached the table as Oz left it behind, setting the check face down next to his tea cup. “Anything else?” she asked.

“I’d like---.”

“Do be quiet, Esme.” He was suddenly weary, tired of feeling ineffectual. Shaking his head at the waitress, Wesley sighed as he reached for his wallet to pay for the bill. He had much yet to learn for his stay here in Sunnydale, and it would seem that the two most likely to teach him were currently out car shopping. In the meantime, he would do everything in his power not to allow Esme to hurt Willow any further.

“Let’s go,” he said, his tone curt as he rose from the booth. “We have much to prepare before we see Rupert.”

* * *

He could hear two voices, both men, neither familiar. Their words were too muffled for Graham to discern, but he’d heard shouting at one point before they had fallen back into normal conversation, and wondered through his somnolent haze if they were arguing about him.

He’d been captured; the chains wrapped around his chest and the duct tape over his mouth were more than enough testimony to that. By whom, however, he had no clue. The last thing he remembered was the van going off the track, and hearing the werewolf get free from the hold before he blacked out. His head still ached from where it had hit the steering wheel, though he could see the bandages on his injuries beneath the chains.

So, he’d been captured, but tended before they’d bound him. That ruled out HST involvement. At least he didn’t have to worry about being turned now.

Torture was another matter. Especially if they didn’t let him take a piss some time soon.

Footsteps echoed in the hall, and Graham quickly closed his eyes again, feigning unconsciousness. The door opened, but the steps stopped.

“How long can one guy sleep?” It was the voice of someone young, male. Graham didn’t recognize it.

“He took a severe blow to the head. We should consider ourselves fortunate he’s still alive.” This one was British. That _definitely_ ruled out any involvement with the Initiative.

“So, let’s wake him up. Wasn’t the whole point of having him here to find out why he and his boys want Oz?”

Oz. Graham knew that name. The werewolf. These were friends of his.

“Be patient, Xander.”

Silence. But they weren’t moving from the bathroom door.

“Maybe he’s in a coma.” Xander again.

“He’s not in a coma.” The British guy sounded like he was getting annoyed. Frankly, Graham thought he would too, if he had to put up with so many stupid questions.

“I just think it’s weird you haven’t heard a peep out of him. When I left last night, it looked like he was starting to come around. Did something happen?”

“Nothing…unusual.”

“So, maybe he’s faking it. It’s not like you’ve been vigilante-sitting around the clock, right?”

All right, so maybe Xander _wasn’t_ so stupid.

Graham came to a quick decision. If he continued to pretend to be out of it, there was no telling what Xander and the British guy would do to try and wake him up. He didn’t think the Brit would do anything unusual, but in light of Xander’s persistent nagging, it was probably better to face the situation head-on.

It didn’t mean, however, that he had to cooperate.

* * *

Giles was just about to drag Xander back into the outer room when he saw the vigilante’s eyes flutter open. Carefully, he took a step closer to the tub, watching for any untoward signs, but when none came, leaned forward and pulled the tape from his mouth.

“How do you feel?” he asked.

Intelligent blue eyes bored into him, far more alert than they should’ve been if he’d only just awoken. Xander’s jocular assessment seemed to be correct, and Giles kicked himself for failing to pursue the interrogation sooner.

“I’ll take that as an, ‘I’m fine,’ then,” Giles continued.

“Release me.” The voice was low, terse, but something about the clipped tones seemed familiar to him.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. Not until you’ve answered some questions for us.” When the vigilante’s lips pressed into a thin line, Giles sighed. “We’re already aware of your identity, Mr. Miller. All we’re interested in is knowing why you and your partners are so interested in capturing demons instead of killing them.”

Still, no answer, and Graham turned his head so that he was staring at the tiled wall instead.

“Aw, c’mon,” Xander wheedled from the doorway. “Not even name, rank, and serial number? That’s what all good hostages are supposed to rattle off. You’re disappointing me here.”

For a moment, Giles thought he saw the chained man start. Before Giles could say anything, though, Xander’s hand curled around his upper arm.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” he murmured.

Following Xander back into the hall, Giles closed the door behind him so that they wouldn’t be heard. “What is it?”

“I realize I’m just the dumb but lovable sidekick here…” His voice was surprisingly low, his attempt to keep from being overheard obvious. “…but I’d bet my last donut that that guy’s involved in some kind of military operation.”

“Anybody can wear camouflage---.”

“It’s not just the clothes. I was just kidding about the name, rank, and serial number schtick, but the guy jumped at it, like I’d caught him out on something. And did you hear him talk?”

“Xander, he’s said two words to us.”

“I’m telling you, I’m right about this. Go ahead and grill him all you want, but there’s no way you’re going to get him to tell you anything. He’s trained not to talk. We’re going to need bigger guns.”

Giles frowned, glancing back at the closed door. “That may very well be, but I’m not willing to resort to those without exhausting more conventional methods.” His mind made up, he began walking back to the kitchen, Xander close on his heels. “I’m going to put the kettle on. I imagine we’re going to have a very long day.”

* * *

When Havi arrived two hours later, Giles had yet to get anything more from Graham beyond a request to use the bathroom and a repeat of his desire to be released. It was frustrating, especially in light of what little they already knew, cutting his temper ever shorter by increasing degrees. It took everything he had not to slam the door in her face when he opened it.

“Now is not the best time,” he said to Havi.

Her gaze darted past him to see Xander hovering in the background. “Is it Willow?” she asked. Her obvious concern for someone she barely knew, should not even recognize, was unsettling. “Has she not recovered?”

“She was doing just fine when I spoke to her this morning,” he replied warily.

“What of your prisoner?”

His eyes narrowed as he contemplated how to answer her. He still didn’t understand what she was doing here, what this protectorate she talked about actually was. The desire to find out was most definitely there, but with so many other volatile events occurring around him, he just didn’t have the wherewithal to pursue it at the moment.

“Giles? Who’s this? How does she know about our No. 6 and Willow?”

Havi looked past him to Xander, answering before Giles could think of an appropriate response.

“You’re Willow’s friend,” she said. “You took her home last night.”

Xander frowned. “Yeah…” he said slowly. “And again, _who_ are you?”

“My name is Havi. I’m---.”

“Just leaving,” Giles finished.

Her arm shot out to stop him from closing the door in her face. “We still need to talk, Mr. Giles. There’s much I have to tell you.”

“And as fascinating as I’m sure it is, I have more pressing matters at hand than studying the Guardians. I’m sorry.”

But her strength was greater than his, and her arm unyielding. The compliance Havi had demonstrated on her first visit was gone, replaced by a solemn determination that stared Giles down, her dark eyes without remorse for refusing him the right to shut her out.

“I’m the one who’s sorry, Mr. Giles. I can’t let you avoid this any longer. There’s too much at stake now, including the wellbeing of your Slayer and her friend. Do you think the events of last night were an accident? Willow’s power grows beyond her control. Measures must be taken---.”

“Wait. What do you know about Willow?” Xander elbowed his way past Giles to face Havi directly. “What kind of measures? Are we talking a little ruler, or one gigantic yardstick?”

“We’ve already arranged for Willow to start the process tonight,” Giles said. “She’ll be working directly with one of the Council’s most powerful witches. As for Buffy, her only worries are for Willow, and for her studies. She is doing perfectly fine.”

“Really?” Havi’s gaze never wavered, though a single brow lifted in curiosity. “And what of the child she carries? Even with William the Bloody at her side, the Slayer will need stronger allies than her friends and the father of her baby. The Slayer needs _me_.”

At his side, Giles felt Xander stiffen at mention of Buffy’s pregnancy, but it was the chill that settled in his own gut that caught his attention. It was impossible for this woman to know of Buffy’s circumstances, when Buffy herself had only learned the truth two days earlier. Havi even knew that Spike was the father. How could that be?

She had worked for Rose Rhodes-Fanshaw, who had proven her powers on more than one occasion. None of this could be a coincidence.

Slowly, Giles lowered his arm and stepped away from the door. “Come in,” he said stiffly. It was almost a smile that curved her lips as she crossed the threshold, and she nodded in gratitude when their eyes met. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all, Giles mused. But, only time would tell.


	22. Yet We Must Not Be Foes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XL.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Havi has arrived at Giles to let him know why she’s there, while Graham has still refused to talk…

“Ready to go?”

It was a fake bravado that Willow forced into her voice, one that she’d had a lifetime to perfect. But Buffy had been distant for most of the day, daydreaming during class, only half-heartedly bantering over lunch. It wasn’t sparked by a bad mood---the uncharacteristic softness that seemed to linger in the Slayer’s face would’ve been stepped on and squashed by anything remotely resembling an ill temper---but Willow couldn’t put her finger on what exactly was the trigger. Part of her agonized that Buffy was fearful because of what had happened the night before, that seeing Willow turn Firestarter may have drawn some sort of line between them. If that was the case, Willow had messed up even worse than she could’ve imagined. She didn’t want to lose her best friend over the magic. It just wasn’t worth it.

“Gimme a sec,” Buffy said, her voice muffled from where she was rummaging around in her closet. She stepped back with two different pairs of slacks in her hands, her gaze jumping between each before turning to show them to Willow. “Black or blue?” she asked.

“Black,” she replied automatically. Her smile wavered when Buffy weighed the options again, and hung the black pair back in the closet. “Or blue,” she went on, determined not to let the snub get to her. “I heard it’s this season’s black anyway.”

“Since when is dressing myself so hard?” Tossing the blue pants to the side, Buffy walked back to her bed and plopped down, landing first on her stomach and then rolling hurriedly onto her back. Her hands flew to her abdomen, her eyes wide. “Crap,” she muttered. “I keep forgetting about being careful.”

“I think it’s OK,” Willow said gently. “You’re not even showing yet.”

Hormones. It had to be. Combine pregnancy jitters with all the brouhaha of the past week, stir in a little Spike, and it was no wonder that Buffy was all brou and no haha. Willow really had to stop overanalyzing everything or her head was going to go pop.

“You don’t even have to come with me,” she continued. “It’s probably going to be pretty boring. Just a lot of meditation and ohm-ing and stinky candles. That stuff can take forever to wash out of your hair.”

“No, I gotta.” Buffy sighed. “I have to know what’s going on with Graham, and if Giles isn’t having any luck getting answers, I’m going to have to have a crack at…cracking him.”

Willow only nodded. Truthfully, she didn’t want Buffy to go. This was the first time she was going to meet up with Esme, and Willow still hadn’t found the right time to tell her best friend that the new witch in her life was the same one who’d almost wrecked their summer. It was a conversation she was dreading having.

“What do you wear for an interrogation, anyway?” Buffy asked, rising back to her feet. “Do I go with pants, for that don’t-mess-with-me vibe? Or do I go the girly route and try and soften him with up a little leg?”

There was a knock at the door, saving Willow the need to answer. Letting Buffy return to her wardrobe dilemma, Willow went and answered it, opening up to a guy she didn’t recognize.

“Here,” he said, shoving a plain white envelope at her.

“What’s this?” She turned it over in her hands and saw Buffy’s name on the other side. Her heart jumped. She recognized that handwriting. It was Spike’s.

“I don’t know. Some guy gave me ten bucks to drop it off.”

“What’s the what?” Buffy asked as Willow closed the door.

“For you.” Silently, she handed it over, and watched as the question in Buffy’s face melted into something else when she saw the careful script.

Turning away, Buffy slit open the seal and pulled out a single piece of folded paper. It was impossible to see what it held, but the fact that the Slayer stood there for what seemed an eternity, reading it over and over and over again, told Willow all she needed to know.

“You might as well go on without me.” Buffy’s voice was reflective as she folded the note back up and set it on her desk. She returned to her closet and pulled out a long skirt. “Let Giles know I’ll be around later.”

“You’re meeting up with Spike?”

“Yeah. He says he’s got something to show me.”

Willow nodded. This was better. Being around Spike would put Buffy in a better mood when she showed up at Giles’. Maybe everybody would survive her encounter with Esme with body parts still intact.

* * *

The studs in her neck kind of freaked Xander out. It wasn’t that he thought he was all that uptight; body piercings on women could be the ultimate in sexy. Pierced belly buttons, for instance. He’d seen more than one flat stomach with a silver ball in it that made him want to get to his knees and use his tongue to worship the woman who wore it.

But on Havi…the studs made him squirm where he sat opposite her. Maybe it was because she just seemed so _hard_. He couldn’t shake the impression that those weren’t pierced through her skin; they were nailed in. And that she’d remained completely emotionless while whoever did the nailing did it. Of course, it didn’t help that she was as tall as he was, that she looked like she’d just walked off of American Gladiators after leaving a trail of unconscious bodies behind her, and that she could completely take him if it came down to a fight.

He squirmed some more. He’d just flashed on an image of a sweaty Havi, wearing one of those skimpy unitard outfits that were more spray paint than clothes, wrestling with an even more scantily clad female gladiator, and his cock had chosen that moment to practice its youthful right to go hard at a second’s notice. Well, more than a second. He’d been staring pretty consistently at Havi ever since she showed up at Giles’ door.

Hard? Yes, she was. Stoic? Most definitely.

But with a body to die for. Even if the studs still freaked him out.

Giles had tried to get him to leave when Havi had come in. “It’s likely that she’ll want discretion in what she wishes to discuss,” he’d said.

“Is this going to be about Willow?”

“Yes,” Havi had replied before Giles could intervene with another argument. “And your friend, Buffy. You are welcome to stay.”

That had been that. Giles couldn’t argue when the invitation came straight from the proverbial horse’s mouth.

“Before we start,” Giles said, “I’d like to know how exactly you’re aware of Buffy’s…condition.” He wasn’t sitting like Xander. Instead, he stood behind the couch, forcing Havi to look up to him.

She was unfazed by his obvious attempts to establish superiority. “Rose told me,” she said. “Before she died.”

“Rose?” It took a moment of playing back the story he’d heard earlier about the summer in London for Xander to have an idea about who this Rose was. “That’s who did the mojo that juiced Willow up, right?”

“As I understand it, she had no choice,” Havi said. “It was the only way to effectively neutralize the witch---.”

“This is not the time to defend the efficacy of Rose’s choice,” Giles interrupted. “It’s done, and now, it’s up to us to determine how best to aid Willow in dealing with the repercussions. Tell me, Miss Aronowicz, what exactly did Rose say to you about Buffy?”

“That she was expecting, and that the father was William Freston.”

Xander turned a confused frown to the Watcher behind him. “You said Spike was the dad.”

“He is. That’s his given name. Why would she tell you this?”

The last question was directed to Havi, and Xander sat back just in time for her to lift a curious brow. “Why _wouldn’t_ she tell me?” she countered. “I was her Protector. If she could entrust me with her life, sharing simple details such as that would be nothing.”

“And yet, Rose is now dead. An interesting conundrum, don’t you think?”

Havi’s lips thinned, and if it was at all possible, she sat up even straighter in her seat. “That was out of my hands,” she said. “Rose said her death was both inevitable and necessary. I was instructed specifically not to intervene.”

“So you know who killed her?”

A long pause. “Yes.”

“Spike’s under the impression it was a Spaniard he was doing business with. A man named Baltozar Marroquin. Is that true?”

A longer pause. “Yes.”

“And yet you did nothing to prevent it.”

“There was nothing I _could_ do.”

“What kind of Protector fails to do the one thing she’s supposed to?” Giles came around the edge of the couch to stand over her, his temper flaring. “For that matter, what exactly _is_ this Protectorate you speak of?”

This was something she felt much more comfortable speaking about, and almost smiled as she addressed him. “For as long as there has been a Chosen One, there have been Guardians to help guide those who train her. They watch the Watchers, you could say.”

Giles sighed. “I know this part,” he said. “I’m interested in _your_ role. I assume you’re some sort of bodyguard?”

“Exactly. There came a point, centuries ago, when the existence of the Guardians became threatened. The Protectorate was formed to preserve their continued survival. When Rose returned to her own time, I was assigned to protect her.”

“Where is this Protectorate?”

“They are everywhere. Evil proliferates in every corner, Mr. Giles. It would hardly do to have the most advanced security system in your home, and then leave the back door unlocked, don’t you think?”

“Yes, quite.” He was starting to pace, digesting the information she’d supplied already, but his lengthy pause grated on Xander’s nerves, driving him to speak before the Watcher could.

“What does any of this have to do with Buffy and Willow?” Xander asked. “I’m hearing guardian talk, and Watcher talk, and protector talk, but I’m not hearing any Slayer or witchy best friend talk. They don’t sound like they have anything do with you.”

Her dark gaze bored through him. “I was unsure myself until I arrived. Rose merely told me that Willow needed to be protected, that there was great danger in her future, and that I needed to come here and do what I can to keep her safe.”

Giles stopped in mid-pace. “She didn’t specify what this danger was?” he asked carefully.

Havi shook her head. “Just that I was to see you and enlist your aid in fulfilling my duty. I consulted the Protectorate upon my arrival to get clarification. They wouldn’t tell me what the specific threat was, but they did inform me why I’ve been involved.”

“And why is that?”

“Willow possesses great power now, and Rose’s death has considerably weakened the Guardians. They would like Willow to consider taking her place among their number.”

The proclamation left both men stunned. “But…Willow is just a child,” Giles stammered. “And hardly in control of her powers.”

“All the better for her to join them as soon as possible,” Havi said. She seemed unflustered by the questions. “She is young enough yet to be molded to the strictures of the Guardians. They will help her hone her magic to best serve the greater good.”

“No,” Xander announced, shaking his head. “No, no, no. Willow is not some cosmic play-doh for your bosses to try shoving into their presses. Everyone’s been saying how she’s got _too much_ magic now. You know what happens when you shove too much play-doh into one of those presses? You break the press. And play-doh squeezes around the sides and gets all over the place. Big mess. Trust me.”

“Xander, I’m not sure that analogy is entirely appropriate.”

“Isn’t it?” He turned to Giles. “Don’t tell you’re actually considering this.”

“There’s nothing for me to consider. If this is the case, the choice is entirely Willow’s to make.”

“The Watcher is right, Mr. Harris---.”

“However...” Giles wasn’t as willing just to accept this as Xander had thought. “…there is far too much going on in Willow’s life right now for her to be confronted with such a serious decision. I will agree to support your need to protect her, based on Rose’s visions, but I would ask that you refrain from posing the other to her until she’s in better control of her new powers. She’s of little use to the Guardians until then anyway.”

“Agreed.” Havi rose to her feet. “Thank you for being so reasonable, Mr. Giles. Rose told me that you were a man of intelligence. I’m glad to see that her championship of your acumen was founded in truth.”

She was already heading for the front door, as if her business was concluded, and both Giles and Xander trailed after in confusion.

“Is that it?” Xander asked. “You drop this bomb and just go? What about Buffy? You never said what any of this has to do with her.”

She hesitated, her hand on the doorknob. “I didn’t say because I don’t know,” she confessed. “Rose only explained about the Slayer’s new circumstances, and that I was to come to the Hellmouth and give my aid when the time came.”

“And that time is…?”

“I don’t know. I only know she said I would recognize it when it arrived.”

“Willow will be here in a short while,” Giles said. “You should stay so that we can explain this to her together---.”

“No.” Pushing the door open, she crossed the threshold into the dusky evening. “Please don’t tell Willow what I’ve said. If she isn’t to make this decision now, I’d rather not burden her further when she has so much already to think about. It will only make her uneasy, and that makes protecting her more difficult.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “If you need to get a hold of me, this is my cell number. I’m willing to give you help in demonhunting, or your problems with the men after the werewolf, or anything else. I’m more than capable. All you have to do is ask.”

She was walking through the courtyard before either man could speak, leaving them in silence.

“You know,” Xander said, “something tells me she’s someone I would want on _my_ side in a fight.” He glanced at Giles. “You think she’s telling the truth? About just wanting to help Buffy and Willow?”

“I’d like to think so,” he replied. “But we should still exercise caution when we deal with her.”

Xander followed him back inside, but not without another inopportune mental image of Havi. Still in the unitard, but this time her long limbs were twisted in the yoga contortions he’d seen in more than one of the exercise videos he occasionally filched from his mother’s collection.

Damn it. He was hard again. And this time, he couldn’t even do something about it because that stupid Graham guy was in the bathroom.

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

She stood outside the Espresso Pump, frowning at the surprising number of people going inside. What was so special about coffee at this time of night? Buffy wondered. And why would Spike want to meet her here?

A faint tingling on the back of her neck diverted her from staring at the coffee shop, and Buffy turned to survey the street, trying to determine where the vampire could be hiding. The sun had only just set, but the sky was still streaked with flames of orange and red. Only the most suicidal vamps would be out in the open already, so what exactly was provoking her Slayer senses?

Her eyes settled on a parked car near the alley, one that had most definitely seen better days. Its windows were blacked out. There was her vampire.

As she walked up to the passenger side, Buffy’s hand slipped into her purse, curling around her stake. Up close, the paint wasn’t as thick, as though it had been applied hastily, and she leaned in to try and peer through one of the cracks.

“Gotta say, I _love_ this particular view.”

She whirled at the sound of Spike’s voice, heat flooding her cheeks as she watched him lift his eyes from where he’d been staring at her ass. Leaning against the building at the mouth of the alley, he was shadowed from the remaining sun, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips as his eyes twinkled in amusement.

“Didn’t know you had a thing about peeping,” he continued. “I’ll have to file that one away for future use.”

Releasing her hold on the stake, Buffy crossed to join him in the alley. “What’s the big surprise?” she asked. “Your note was pretty heavy on the cryptic.”

He jerked his chin back at the car. “You were looking at her.”

Puzzled, she turned around and gave the car a closer inspection. It was a two-door, black Thunderbird that looked like it had come straight out of “American Graffiti,” but she only knew the make because of the silvery writing across its back wing. The black was being generous, though; the paint was severely chipped in more than one place, and almost faded to gray in others. Whitewall tires helped add to the Happy Days look, but when she stepped around to see its front, that effect faded. A bright and shiny new grille beamed back at her, its ornate decoration looking remarkably like fangs.

“Know she’s not much to look at,” Spike said, venturing forward from the shadows. “But the engine’s solid, and there’s plenty of room in the boot for weapons or baby stuff or the like.”

“This is, like, fifty years old.”

“Yeah.” A nostalgic grin was on his face. “They don’t make ‘em like this any more.”

 _For a reason_ , she thought, but held her tongue. He was obviously so pleased with what he’d done that she didn’t have the heart to drag him down with any snide remarks. But there was one question she _had_ to ask.

“Where’d you get it?” Buffy said. It was too nonchalant, and the fact that she couldn’t even look at him while she asked it probably made it all too clear that she worried he’d killed someone for it.

“Oz hooked me up with a bloke who knows how to separate the wheat from the chaff. Took one look at me and knew I’d treat his baby right.” His hand shot out and grabbed hers, tugging her away from the car and into his arms. “It’s all legit, Buffy. Papers are in the glovebox if you want to see them.”

One look into the dark blue of his eyes, and she just shook her head. “I believe you,” she said. “But I thought you didn’t have much money. Of course, he probably paid you to take it off his hands---hey!”

She grinned and twisted away when he pinched her for her insolent remark. “Made him a deal he couldn’t refuse,” Spike said. “But yeah, it means I’m just about tapped out in the way of funds right now. She’s worth it, though. A lick of paint and a decent stereo, and I could probably sell her off for twice what I paid.”

Going back around to the passenger side, Buffy tested the handle and found it unlocked. To Spike’s credit, the interior was in much better condition. Black leather lined the seats and the dashboard sparkled from a recent clean. Only the smell of fresh paint detracted from it.

“Fancy a ride?” He was suddenly behind her, his arm around her waist as he pulled her gently back against his chest. “Got a full tank of petrol, just in case you might.”

She couldn’t help but relax in the circle of his arms. “You told me to dress up,” she said, plucking at her skirt. “I almost thought you wanted to go out.”

“I just want you to have the option.” His mouth was buried in the crook of her neck, his lips ghosting over her skin. “Still have enough dosh left to take you out proper, if you want.”

She sighed. “I can’t,” Buffy said. “I’m supposed to head over to Giles’ to help with the interrogation later on. And Willow’s got her first meeting with the coven witch tonight. I wanted to be there to support her.”

He stiffened as soon as she mentioned Willow’s name. “Don’t s’pose Red told you anything about who they’ve hooked her up with,” he said carefully.

“No. Why?”

“It looks like we’ll be takin’ a drive, then.” Stepping back, Spike held the door open and nodded for Buffy to get in. “Got something you need to hear ‘bout Red’s new teach, and as much fun as it might be to see you take it out on the locals, I think you might end up regretting that later.”

* * *

It had been a long, impossible day for Maggie. Minutes crawled. Her students were even more dim-witted than usual. Someone keyed her car in the staff parking lot. By the time she reported to the Initiative’s base at sundown, her temper was not just short, but completely gone, leaving her barking and sniping at any who dared to address her.

And all because of one missing soldier.

She didn’t know if Graham was dead or alive. By the time she reached her office, Maggie didn’t care. All she wanted was an answer, to know one way or another what exactly had happened.

When Graham had failed to report in at his designated hour, Maggie’s stomach had plummeted while the night of Riley’s death replayed in her head. This werewolf was costing her good people, and she was getting sick and tired of losing to it. Recon had brought in the dead body of Graham’s partner, but the fact that Miller was nowhere to be found was diminished by the knowledge that his tracking device was all too quickly located. Right at the scene of the crash.

Miller was either AWOL, dead, or taken hostage. Maggie didn’t like any of the options.

She liked even less that she was being ordered to abandon the werewolf project. According to the memo she’d been sent, “the number of deaths associated with the HST’s retrieval greatly increased the risk of exposure, and thus its benefits are outweighed by the need for security.” The phone call she’d placed to debate the merits of the memo had been fruitless as well, leaving her half a dozen men down, werewolf-less, and with a potential security leak in the missing Miller.

She hoped for his sake that he was dead. The Initiative would not take too kindly to a breach in their operations.

The only bright spot of her day came with another phone call, this time from the airport. At least one thing was according to plan. And he’d even be able to attend class in the morning for introductions. It was still possible to keep her sights on the Slayer after all.

Now, if she could only get her hands on Graham again.


	23. Blame Me Not

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike has spirited Buffy away to tell her about Esme, while Giles has learned that Havi is there to protect both Willow and Buffy from some unknown danger, and that the Guardians wish to recruit Willow…

If she hadn’t seen the nearly-full box of donuts in the kitchen, Willow would’ve thought Xander was on a sugar high, what with all the fidgeting he kept doing. Giles had informed her that Xander now knew about Buffy and Spike and the baby, but still, in her eyes, that didn’t justify the constant fidgeting or the way he kept complaining about how they either had to do something about the vigilante guy, or Giles was going to have to get a second bathroom because the lack of privacy in the one he did have was just not good enough.

When she heard Wesley’s voice at the doorway, Willow was almost glad that she wasn’t going to have to hang around Xander any more. Whatever was agitating him, was starting to make her edgy, too, and the whole purpose for even being at Giles’ was to be non-edgy. Lately, Willow being edgy meant things went up in smoke, and it would be very much of the not good if the next thing to make her edgy was her best friend. Not good at all.

Before she could rise from the couch, icy fingers tickled down Willow’s spine, her bare arms erupting in gooseflesh. There was nobody behind her---almost everyone was still in the doorway---but the oppressive weight of _something_ made her suddenly fearful of greeting the arrivals, the impulse to take flight stirred to rabid proportions. To where, she had no idea. Just…anywhere but here.

“Are you OK?” Xander was suddenly crouching in front of her, his warm gaze searching her face. “You look like you’re going to be sick.” A flash of panic made his outstretched hand jerk back, causing Willow to roll her eyes.

“No, Xander,” she said, annoyed. “I’m not pregnant, too.”

He let out a sigh of relief, and then caught himself, flushing an appropriate red. “Do you need me to get you anything?” he asked, desperate to cover up his jumped-to conclusion.

“No, I just…” Her voice trailed off. Esme had entered the room and now stood off to the side of the sofa, watching the display with barely disguised amusement. Swallowing down the fear that had glued her to her seat, Willow waggled her fingers at the witch in greeting. “Hi.”

“You look unwell,” Esme said. “Are you sure you’re up to starting this tonight?”

The question brought the Watchers into the conversation before she could reply. “Willow?” Giles asked, concern darkening his face.

“I’m fine,” she said. She waved everybody away. “Just…nervous.”

“To be expected.” Glancing around the apartment, Esme shook her head in disapproval. “This won’t do,” she said. “We’ll need privacy. She’ll never relax with an audience watching her every move.”

“What? You never said---.”

“You expected her to meditate while in the middle of a three-ring circus?” Esme shook her head. “You disappoint me, Mr. Giles. I’d thought you more perceptive than that.”

“This is your first meeting with her. If you thought you could---.”

“It’s OK, Giles.” Wobbily, Willow stood up, helped by Xander’s hand on her elbow. She felt better in a vertical position, but the fact that the feelings of panic grew stronger when Esme came closer weren’t lost on her. Something---the magic, it had to be---wasn’t thrilled about its old host’s presence, but something else told Willow not to voice that out loud. For whatever reason, she couldn’t let Esme know about the weakness.

“I suppose you could use my bedroom,” Giles said, gesturing toward the loft. “It’s not completely contained, but it will afford more privacy than…here.”

Esme nodded. “That will do.” She turned to Willow with a cold smile. “Shall we begin, then?”

“Okey dokey.” Wearing her best brave little toaster face, she trailed after the older woman, ignoring the pounding of her heart. She could do this. This was for her own good.

She just had to be strong.

* * *

It was taking every inch of whatever self-control Buffy possessed not to kick Giles’ door in. As it was, her hands were clenched so tightly at her sides that her nails were digging half-moon trenches into her palms, and her heels clicked against the sidewalk as she marched up to his apartment.

Be calm, be calm, she intoned silently. Don’t rip any heads off. Giles always complains about blood on the floor and that will _definitely_ leave a mess.

Still, her knock was more violent than she intended, and Buffy winced as one of the carved panels higher up on the door cracked from the force.

Giles opened it almost immediately, but before he could say a word, she was brushing past him, eyes burning as they jumped around the apartment to survey the occupants.

“Where is she?” Buffy demanded through gritted teeth.

“I have no idea who---.”

“Don’t lie, Giles. Spike told me what was up.” She whirled on her heel to confront him, her voice rising. “I can’t _believe_ you want that _witch_ to fix Willow!”

“All right, first of all, Willow is not broken. Secondly, I’m certain that whatever Spike told you, you aren’t aware of the full extent of the situation at hand.”

“Is she here?”

“Yes, but---.”

“Then that’s all the extent I need to know.”

At the couch, Wesley looked panicked, and she caught the nervous glance he shot toward the stairs. It was Xander, though, who blocked her path to the loft, and she paused at the abashed shake of his head.

“I know you’re worried about her,” he said, “and I know you think that Esme is bad news, but you can’t go up there.”

It wasn’t the fact that he was trying to stop her that made Buffy frown. “You know about Esme?” she asked in confusion. “How?”

“Giles told me. So, yeah, I know what you did last summer.” He held up a warning finger. “That doesn’t mean you and I aren’t having a long talk about why exactly you thought _you_ couldn’t tell me, but now’s not the time. Now, it’s about Willow. And she needs this, Buffy. She went up there of her own free will, even when Giles tried to keep a safety net for her.”

“Esme’s dangerous.”

“So’s Willow, or have we forgotten already about the Bonfire of the Vigilantes last night?”

Her hesitation wasn’t missed by either of the Watchers.

“Esme is certainly the most qualified to instruct Willow how to manage the magic,” Wesley said, coming around to stand at Xander’s side. “And should something go awry, Esme is fully aware that she will be shipped back to England without recompense.”

“I would never have agreed to this if I thought Esme posed a real threat any longer,” Giles added softly. “But the fact remains, she’s an elderly woman with no residual powers. Even if it came to a physical altercation, Willow would win.”

But Buffy wasn’t quite willing to give up. Ever since Spike had given her the news, all she could think about was getting back at the old witch. After all the turmoil she had caused, Buffy thought it was the least Esme deserved.

“I’m not leaving,” she announced. “I want my face to be the first she sees when they come back down. I have a few things I’d like to say to her.”

The _or_ _do to her_ remained unsaid, and Buffy let Xander guide her to the couch. She hadn’t expected to have guilt about him added into her baggage for the night, but at least she was being granted a reprieve from that particular conversation. Why deal with that stress today when she could deal with it tomorrow? It’s not like her plate wasn’t already full.

“I’m rather surprised Spike didn’t come with you,” Wesley said casually. “It was quite difficult to keep him from attacking Esme this afternoon when he discovered her presence here.”

The vampire’s name made Xander stiffen at her side. “Buffy’s still her own Slayer,” he said defensively. “She doesn’t need the bleached wonder glued to her side when he’s not wanted.”

She shrank slightly away from him. “Actually, he’s just outside,” she admitted. “He gave me a ride, but he didn’t want to get in the way.”

“Sounds more like he’s running scared.”

Buffy jumped up when Xander suddenly rose and started marching to the door. “Where are you going?” she asked.

“I just want to have a word with Spike,” he said. He ground to a halt when he reached the threshold, then turned back to grab a stake from the desk. “Just in case,” he said in explanation.

“He’s not going to hurt you, Xander. He promised.” She paused. “And I want the same from you.”

“That I won’t hurt myself? Sure. Never really been one about the pain,” he said with a grin.

“You know what I mean.”

His grin faded. She almost felt bad about asking but after what she’d walked into at her dorm, Buffy knew she didn’t have a choice.

“Yeah, OK,” Xander conceded. Very slowly, he set the stake back down, but his eyes never left hers. “But if you hear any screams, you’ll know we’ve moved beyond words into outright terror and come running, right?”

“Of course.” She gave him her bravest smile, hoping for one in return. All she got was a curt nod before he disappeared outside.

* * *

Dropping the cigarette butt to the gutter, Spike crushed the dying tip beneath the toe of his boot, already reaching into his pocket for another. Knowing who Buffy was confronting made him twitchy, and short of getting into the brawl himself, this was the best way for him to stay calm enough to let her do what she wanted.

He was taking a deep drag, his nose filled with the rich scent of tobacco, when the voice came from the direction of the complex.

“I’m starting to think the bleach is a good thing. It makes you glow in the dark. Anything that gives me the time to run away has to be a plus, right?”

Spike rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Harris?” he asked. “Fancy havin’ another go at staking me?”

“Nah, Buffy already made me surrender my weapon. Besides, I think she might get a little pissy if I killed her baby’s father.”

He said it so casually that it was impossible not to know he meant to took Spike by surprise with the knowledge. Good thing Spike had a century of knowing when to expect the unexpected.

“Told you, did she?” he said instead.

“Nope. Giles did.”

Spike’s brow lifted. Well. He hadn’t seen _that_ one coming.

“He told me a lot of things,” Xander continued, stepping closer to where Spike leaned up against the hood of the car. “Like what really went down this summer, and why it is Buffy all of a sudden thinks you’re the second coming, and…is that a Thunderbird?”

Pride swelled inside Spike’s chest. “It’s _my_ bird,” he announced.

“Fifty-nine?”

“Sixty, actually.”

Xander nodded as he began to circle the car. “She needs a paint job. How’s the engine?”

“Solid.” Spike cocked his head, watching the inspection in bemusement. “Didn’t take you as the sort to be interested in this sort of thing.”

“Never used to be. But Buffy and Willow weren’t the only ones around here who had a summer of adventure.” He turned a speculative eye back to Spike. “So who’d you have to kill to get this? More importantly, does Buffy know that you’re killing just for cars these days?”

He straightened, bristling at the accusation. “She’s mine, all square. And as for Buffy---.”

“Save it,” he said, cutting him off with a wave of his hand. “I’m not the one wearing Spike-colored glasses. I know you couldn’t have afforded this. It’s a classic.”

“Well, I got myself a deal. Bloke let her go for a song.”

“Really? What’s wrong with her?”

The two men stared at each other for a long moment, both determined. Finally, Spike let out a sigh, tossing aside his cigarette.

“You have to promise not to tell Buffy,” he said, pulling the keys from his duster pocket and going around to the back of the car.

A grin split Xander’s features. “This sounds promisingly like blackmail material,” he gloated as he moved to join Spike. “I think I like it.”

“Got your word?”

“Sure, just tell me---.” He jumped away from the car when the trunk opened before him, his hand clamping over his nose. “God, what died in there?”

“More like what didn’t,” Spike said, looking ruefully down at the expanse. “Used to be owned by some shark who used it to move around the bodies of the gits who didn’t pay up when their time came ‘round.”

“Shut it, shut it.” Waiting until the trunk was closed again, Xander began gulping at the clean air. “How in hell did Buffy not notice _that_?”

“There’s a dampening spell around it. The bloke I bought it from put it on, hoping to find some idiot willing to buy it without popping the boot.”

“And he got you. Figures.”

Spike leaned against the car and stuffed his hands deep into his duster pockets. “Just part of the work I’ve got to do on her,” he said defiantly. “I can get rid of it before Buffy’s ever the wiser.”

Xander wrinkled his nose at the obvious possession in the vampire’s voice. “Which brings us back to why I’m out here in the first place,” he said.

“What? You didn’t come ‘cause you missed my sparkling personality?” He clicked his tongue in mock reproof. “I am shocked and dismayed, I tell you.”

Stepping forward, Xander poked a finger into Spike’s chest. “I know what you’re doing, so don’t think you’re getting away with this. It’s not going to happen.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

“Buffy loving you. OK, so maybe she did fall for William, but newsflash, Spike. You’re not him. You don’t have a soul. It doesn’t matter who the father of that baby is, you are never going to be the guy who gave it to her and you are never going to be a real part of its life, understand?”

Spike moved before Xander could react, reversing their positions so that he could pin the young man to the car. “I’m only goin’ to say this once,” he hissed. He loosened his grip on Xander’s wrist when he felt one of the bones start to give; the last thing he needed was to give the prat ammo to use against him. “That baby is mine, just as much as it’s Buffy’s. _She_ knows that, and you know what? She’s fine with it. Even more, she knows that I’m goin’ to stick by her and the little one until the day I dust, so if you’ve got a problem with it, I suggest you either learn to keep that gob of yours shut or start accepting that Buffy’s a grown woman who knows what she wants.”

“You can’t seriously think that’s you,” Xander spat.

“No reason it can’t be.”

“Oh, yes, there is. It’s called a soul. She couldn’t be with Angel without one, so do you really think you can do better than that?”

Shoving Xander quickly against the car before letting him go, Spike took a step away, shoving his fists deep into his pockets to keep from using them on the boy’s face. “You have no bloody idea what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice tight. “You weren’t _there_ , Harris. What happened between me and Buffy---.”

“ _William_ and Buffy. Big difference.”

“Not really, you nit. You’re just too soddin’ stupid to realize it. But my point _is_ that not one of the lot of you has the right to start judging Buffy. She’s saved your pathetic lives _how_ many times now? And you repay her by making her miserable. That’s bloody terrific.”

“We don’t make her miserable. We’re her _friends._ We just don’t want her to make another huge mistake.”

Spike shook his head. “Buffy’s a helluva lot smarter than any of you give her credit for,” he said. “All you see is the Slayer---.”

“Like that’s not all _you_ see, Spike. Another kill for the record books.”

“Not so. Not any more.”

“Why? Because she’s pregnant?”

“No. Because I love her.”

Spike was expecting a flip rejoinder, some glib comment about how he wasn’t capable of any kind of real emotion, but for a second, Xander looked unsure. Brown eyes squinted in confusion, scanning the vampire as if seeing him for the first time. It was actually more unsettling than dealing with Harris on a normal basis.

“Last time I heard, you loved Drusilla,” Xander commented.

“Things change, mate.”

“Not you.”

“Really? So, that _wasn’t_ me who saved your friends’ skins the past couple nights?” Spike shook his head. “Bloody pathetic. You bang on about helping Buffy, but you’re too daft to see what’s right under your nose.”

“What’s under my nose is a vampire who doesn’t know when to get out while the going’s still good.” Xander’s voice was tight, though not quite as vehement as before. “Why do I think buying the Thunderbird wasn’t so that you’d have to walk it when you skip town?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Need wheels to get around, don’t I?” he said warily. “And Buffy doesn’t drive. She’s goin’ to start having appointments with the doc soon enough. Bein’ her _friend_ …” he practically sneered the word, “…I’d’ve thought you’d be all for anything that makes life a bit easier for her.”

“I am. I do.” He took a deep breath, and his gaze fell, the next said so quickly that Spike almost missed it. “That’s why I’m not going to be the one rocking the boat for her.”

“Well, that’s right big of you.”

“That doesn’t mean I won’t be watching you, though. And I don’t care how many promises I make to Buffy, if I find out that you’ve hurt her in _any_ way---.”

“Save it. You’ll have to stand in line.” Bored with the conversation, Spike glanced up at the apartment complex. “I’m guessing by the lack of bloodcurdling screams that ol’ Rupert’s talked Buffy down. Shame, that.”

“She was talked down before I came out,” Xander said. “Stop changing the---.”

“So what’s she still doin’ in there?”

“Waiting for Willow and Esme to get done. She said she wanted to talk to the old lady. Look, Spike---.”

He tilted his head. “Why exactly are you still blathering, Harris?” he commented. “Got the picture already. I’m an evil, soulless creature, unworthy of even bein’ in the Slayer’s presence, and if I hurt her, you’ll stake my sorry ass. That about sum it up?”

Xander looked nonplussed. “Well, yeah.”

“Fine. Now, sod off. I’m in the middle of a right pleasant nicotine fix, and you’re spoiling the effect.”

He had another cigarette lit and was standing in front of the new grille he’d spent most of his dosh on when he realized Xander hadn’t actually gone back up to the apartment. Instead, the young man was loitering on the walk, his gaze jumping from Spike to various parts of the car.

“What?” Spike asked, annoyed.

Xander shrugged. “Just wondering what kind of work you’re going to be doing on her,” he said.

“Why? You fancy offering a hand?”

“I might even offer two if you’d let me take it for a ride once or twice.”

“Ha. Not bloody likely. Not with my baby.”

“I just thought you might want some help from someone who’s actually worked on T-birds before.”

That made Spike look up. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope. Well, it was only one T-bird, and I probably did more ogling than actual working because Marco was kind of anal about who touched his car.” He grinned. “Kind of like you, it looks like.”

“Who the hell is Marco?”

“Just some guy I worked with this summer at the str---.” He stopped, his face suddenly turning red. “Long story and I’m _not_ going to share it. My point is, I can help, if you want.”

From threatening his unlife to offering a hand in fixing up his car. The boy had more personalities than brains, it looked like.

Spike was about to demand what the fuck was going on, when a new idea struck him.

Buffy would love this idea. She wanted everyone to get along, wanted everyone to play nice. With so much else already in flux, she was counting on the people she trusted most around her to help make that as easy as possible. It was likely Xander was counting on Spike telling him to go to hell, and then turning around to gloat to Buffy that he’d at least tried, and come out looking like the better man.

Couldn’t have that.

“Think we can work something out,” Spike said. He grinned when he saw the surprise in the other man’s face. Oh, yeah. Buffy was definitely going to love this.

Playing nice was just the first step in getting her to finally admit out loud that she loved _him_ , too.

* * *

The first step had been surprisingly simple. Young Willow was so eager for any kind of direction, she’d accepted Esme’s instructions without argument, tracing the circle that surrounded them and even uttering the small protection spell so that they couldn’t be interrupted now. She’d had no clue the extent they were now cut off from the others; otherwise, she would never have slipped into the meditation as easily as she had. Now, Willow sat opposite Esme in the circle, her breathing slow and even, eyes closed.

Oblivious.

Considering her more insidious fantasies over the past two months, what Esme had planned was reasonably harmless. She just wanted to get a drop of Willow’s blood to analyze. If she could determine how it was the seer had done the transfer---a detail even Quentin had been rabid about protecting---perhaps she could discover the way to undo it. It shouldn’t be that difficult to find someone on the Hellmouth willing to make a trade to aid her in her quest.

Carefully, Esme pulled her trousers leg up to expose the safety pin she’d attached to her stocking. She hadn’t known how paranoid the Watchers would be, whether they’d go so far as to search her for dangerous weapons before allowing her to work with Willow. Since her requirements were so few, the safety pin had seemed like the most innocuous tool she could use; it was the primary reason she had insisted upon such privacy.

Without moving any more than necessary, Esme reached across the circle to grasp Willow’s hand lightly in hers. The girl was deep within the meditation, easily led, but it was always wise to be cautious. Her skin was pale, peppered with the occasional freckle, and it amazed Esme that such a vessel was coping as well as it was with the powers within its frame. The strength of youth, she decided as turned Willow’s palm upward.

She jabbed the point of the pin into the fleshy part beneath the thumb, and immediately, a drop of crimson swelled to the surface. A jolt of electricity jumped between them, and Esme gasped, just as Willow’s eyes shot open.

“Ow!” she cried out, yanking her hand away.

But Esme was unheeding of the alarm in the girl’s voice. Her dark gaze was fixated on her gnarled hand, watching her fingertips glow from an inner power, the startled seeping of magic---cool, glorious, intoxicating magic---already beginning to permeate deeper.

“What did you do?” Willow demanded. Her voice had risen, but when Esme didn’t respond, the pinpricked hand darted forth and wrapped around the frail wrist.

The pain was excruciating. All Esme could do was scream.

* * *

They’d heard Willow cry out, but it was the death rattle of Esme’s voice almost immediately following that compelled them to dash up the stairs, Buffy in the lead. The sight that greeted them made them only hesitate for a second before the Slayer took charge. Or tried to.

Within a circle of flickering candles, Willow and Esme sat opposite each other, the younger woman cross-legged, the older awkwardly situated on a pillow. Willow held Esme’s hand in hers, but when Buffy rushed forward to try and separate the two, she ended up bouncing off an unseen barrier.

“It’s a protection spell,” Wesley said before she could ask. He watched the display with rapt attention. “To safeguard them during the meditations.”

“Yeah, well, it’s keeping me from breaking this up!” She waved a frustrated hand at the pair. “Get rid of it!”

The sound of the front door slamming echoed from downstairs, and Spike and Xander burst into the loft, skidding to a halt when they saw everyone else just watching helplessly.

“What’s going on?” Xander asked, breathless.

“She cut me.”

All heads whipped around to stare at Willow, who still focused on the elderly witch opposite her. Buffy took a tentative step closer.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

Slowly, Willow let Esme go, and lifted her hand to see the small droplets of blood smeared on her palm. There was a moment of dead silence, and then she pursed her lips, blowing a directed stream of air onto the injured area.

Buffy’s eyes widened as the blood disappeared, leaving behind a stretch of unbroken skin, as if the wound had never happened. The instant the blood was gone, Esme fell backward, knocking over several of the candles and collapsing half out of the circle.

Everyone surged forward. The Watchers gathered an unconscious Esme and stretched her out on the bed, while Buffy and Xander hovered around a suddenly shaky Willow.

“I’m OK, I’m OK,” she kept saying, but let her friends guide her from the room anyway. Spike trailed after them, staying in the background as they led her to the couch.

Buffy took Willow’s hand in hers, looking over the smooth skin before letting it go. “I guess you can handle yourself around her after all,” she commented.

“I guess,” Willow echoed faintly.

“Neat little trick you’ve got there,” Spike said. “Could prove handy in a fight, I’d reckon.”

She shook her head. “I’m…I don’t know how I did it. I was…meditating, and so relaxed. More relaxed than I’ve been since all this started, I think. And then…” Glancing down at her palm, she brushed over the pad with a trembling finger. “…she cut me.”

“Pricked you, actually,” Giles interrupted from the stairs. He held up a safety pin as he approached. “Hardly lethal, but enough to draw blood.”

“Why?”

“We won’t know until she wakes up. She seems to be unconscious from whatever it was you did to her.”

Wildly, Willow’s eyes jumped to the faces of the people surrounding her. “I didn’t do _anything_ ,” she said. “I just…”

Buffy slipped her arm around her friend’s shoulder. “It’s OK,” she soothed. “Whatever it was, it’s going to be OK.”

“And hey, no flashfires this time,” Xander joked. “That’s a step in the right direction, isn’t it?”

Nobody laughed. “I think…I think I need to go home,” Willow said.

Buffy glanced up at Spike, who nodded almost immediately. “We’ll take you,” she said. She helped Willow stand, and together, they followed Spike’s long stride to the door.

“I want you to call me in the morning,” Giles said. “When you’re up to discussing what exactly happened.”

Giving him the assurance they would, the girls slipped into the darkness. Nobody knew quite what to say, and thus stayed silent all the way to the car. It wasn’t until the car had pulled away from the curb that Buffy even remembered the other reason she’d wanted to see Giles that night, but now, in light of what was going on with Willow, vigilante groups clearing the demon population almost seemed insignificant.

* * *

He heard the scream, muffled through the closed bathroom door. Though he didn’t think they’d honestly forgotten about him, Graham instinctively realized that he was no longer the top priority for whoever it was that had captured him, especially when the minutes dragged by and nobody poked their nose in to try and start up with the questions again. He wasn’t so sure whether that was a good thing or not, though considering the low-tech aspect of the kidnapping, he was inclined to think it didn’t matter one way or another. These were just a bunch of amateurs, with problems of their own to sort out. Once they got tired of his non-answers, they would let him go.

The one thing that did worry him was what would happen once he returned to the Initiative. If they suspected he’d breached security, he knew there would be no hesitation about punishment. He’d probably be shipped off on some dangerous mission where everyone was expected to die, and while he certainly believed in the good of what the Initiative was doing, he didn’t particularly have any sort of death wish he wanted to see fulfilled.

Closing his eyes, Graham listened to the muted voices from the outer rooms, wondering just how many people were out there now. The girl he’d heard shouting earlier was either no longer speaking or gone; his money was on gone because she’d been fairly vocal up to that point. As for the others, it was hard to tell, but one by one, they drifted away, leaving the apartment in silence.

The opening of the door startled him, and the chains scraped against the tub as Graham looked up to see the British guy hovering in the entrance.

“I suspect you’re probably hungry,” he said. His voice was weary, sparking even more curiosity in Graham’s thoughts about what had actually transpired. “Would you like some soup?”

After only a moment’s hesitation, Graham nodded, watching as the man left again. He didn’t have any fear that it was going to be poisoned, not with this crowd, and he needed to keep his strength up. He would find a way to escape; he would just have to bide his time for the perfect opportunity.

Which wouldn’t be tonight, unfortunately.


	24. The Voice of Souls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LXIX.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Xander and Spike have come to an uneasy truce, and Esme has tried to get some of Willow’s blood to analyze, only to be stopped by Willow herself…

Spike watched Red in his rearview mirror as surreptitiously as he could, wary of any more of her flambé outbursts. He didn’t really expect something to happen, but considering how unpredictable her magic had been and the fact that she was sitting in the back seat of his new car, he thought it best to be on the lookout, just in case. Good thing he didn’t have a reflection for her to cotton on to.

Didn’t stop Buffy from noticing, however.

He scowled when a particularly vicious jab in his thigh came from the passenger seat. “Quit it,” Buffy mouthed when he glanced in her direction.

“It’s OK,” Willow said from the back seat. The creak of leather preceded her elfin chin appearing on the back of the seat between them. “I get that I’m making Spike nervous. I would be, too, if I was extra-flammable and had a burning match in my new old car.”

“Not nervous,” Spike protested.

“And you’re not burning,” Buffy said.

“Not now,” Willow pouted, and then bitterly added, “But who knows? Piss me off and you, too, could have the sunburn from hell.”

“Way I see it,” Spike said, doing his best to appear nonchalant and not glance in the mirror again, “if someone’s daft enough to brass off a powerful witch, they deserve whatever it is you dish out to them.”

“But that’s just it.” She was leaning further across the seat, her rising mood bringing twin spots of color to her cheeks. “I’m not a powerful witch. I’m a loose cannon, and things keep going kerplooie on me whether I want them to or not.”

“So we just have to get Wesley and Giles to tighten you up,” Buffy said with false perkiness. It took a moment of both Spike and Willow staring at her in disbelief for her eyes to widen. “And I _so_ didn’t mean that to sound as kinky as it did.”

“I need a drink,” Willow muttered.

Reaching across Buffy’s lap, Spike flipped open the glovebox and extracted his flask. “Only got a drop,” he said, holding it up for Willow to take. “But you’re welcome to it.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I was thinking more Slurpee-flavored, but thanks anyway.”

“Stop at the 7-Eleven,” Buffy instructed. “I’ll run in and get something.”

They rode in silence for the few blocks to the store, and Spike left the motor idling as Buffy hopped out to get the drinks. He was about to turn on the radio and start looking for some decent music, when Willow slid forward again to peek over his shoulder.

“Is Buffy OK?” she asked.

He twisted in his seat so he could look at her without craning his neck. “What’re you fussing about her for?”

She glanced quickly through the windshield to make sure there was no sign of the Slayer. “She was out of it before she got your note today,” Willow explained. “I think it’s just pregnancy stuff, but…I worry. She’s my best friend, and she’s not really talking to me right now.”

He heard what she wasn’t willing to say out loud. “It’s got nothin’ to do with you,” Spike assured, softening his voice to convey his sincerity. “Buffy’s just…preoccupied with everything, and yeah, she’s worried about you and the mojo, but her closing herself off is just classic Summers conditioning. You know that.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

“Just give her a couple days. Between the baby and this vigilante business, she’s got her head pretty full. Not to mention what hearin’ the old witch was in town did to her.”

“Plus, you.” It came out without thought, and Willow colored when he cocked an eyebrow in question. “You know what I mean,” she stammered. “All those love letters, and then showing up weeks later than when you said you would? And she can’t even try to justify it like she did with Angel. Not without the soul, though to be honest, I was kind of surprised she brought the whole issue up in the first place.”

It was the second time someone had brought up the issue of his lack of soul, but where Spike had been quick to scoff at Harris’ casual bandying about of the deficiency, hearing that Buffy had voiced something similar---and not to him---made him run cold.

The shock must have shown in his face, because Willow’s eyes turned into saucers, and she jumped to try and correct what she’d volunteered.

“It was just intellectual speculation,” she said quickly. “Of the, ‘did I think you’d be different’ variety.” She made a chopping motion with her hand. “But I put a stop to that kind of thinking right then and there. I told Buffy it wouldn’t do what she wanted, even if I _could_ somehow figure out how to put your soul back---.”

“She asked you to do that?”

He knew he sounded like a wounded puppy, but it had never occurred to Spike that Buffy would try to make him over into Angel, and he couldn’t stop the pain from leaking through into his voice.

“No! That’s what I’m saying. It was just speculation. Definitely. And she hasn’t mentioned it since, so she’s probably even forgotten that she ever brought it up which means you should forget I ever said anything about it, too. Please?”

His hand passed wearily over his face. “Forget it. Right. ‘Cause that’s not a bloody elephant you’ve just set loose.”

Willow looked stricken, knuckles white from where she gripped the seat, and her eyes darted from side to side as she searched for her next words. “I know I haven’t had the chance to really talk to you about everything that happened this summer,” she began again, “but I told Buffy this, and now I’m going to tell you. I think you being around is a good thing for her.” He looked up at that, searching her open features for any sign of duplicity. “I mean it, Spike. I know how much you love her, and this summer, when Buffy was dreaming of Will---of _you_ , that was the happiest I’ve seen her in a long time. Sure, things kind of went wonky after that business with Esme and April, but I think you just need to give Buffy time. She’ll come around. As long as you don’t do anything stupid.”

He snorted at that last, and turned away, staring through the windshield to watch his Slayer emerge from the shop. Backlit from the bright fluorescents inside, she almost seemed to pulse with life as she sipped at one of the two drinks she carried, and shot him a quick smile when their eyes met. It made him ache. Was he really what she wanted? Was he just deluding himself into believing that he could actually have a real place in her and the baby’s lives?

She was still smiling when she slid back into the car, passing one of the drinks over the seat to Willow. “I got you blue flavor,” Buffy said brightly. She nestled her own drink in between her legs and pulled out a small plastic bag from her purse. “And since they don’t exactly have blood on tap here,” she said to Spike, “I got this for you instead.”

He took the bag with a frown, but his brows shot upward as soon as he pulled out the tiny candy dispenser.

“It’s a vampire Pez,” Buffy explained. She reached and pointed to the top. “And see? He’s even got little fangs. Can’t give you a blood fix, but no reason I can’t cater to that sweet, non-bitey tooth of yours.”

“Thanks,” Spike said slowly. He wasn’t entirely certain what to make of the gift, especially when Willow started babbling excitedly in his ear.

“Aren’t these adorable?” she said. “Oz and I have a whole collection. They’re so cute, I can’t stop buying them for him. But, you know, werewolves and witches, and that kind of thing.”

Buffy flushed when she caught Spike’s amused glance. “I never said it was an original idea,” she said.

Grabbing her hand before she could pull away, he lifted it to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the palm. “All that matters is that you thought of me,” he said with more conviction than he felt. He was rewarded with the quickening of her heart, the slight rise in her body temperature, and set aside the doubt that Red’s words had instilled him.

For the time being, at least.

* * *

Baltozar was waiting for Havi when she finally returned to their apartment, pacing the floor in the tiny living room like a caged animal. He turned on her the moment the front door opened, striding forward to yank her inside and then pinning her violently to the wall.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he growled.

His forearm was pressed against her windpipe, and, frantically, her hands came up to claw at the corded muscles. “Let me go,” she hissed. She was strong, but he was stronger, and when his hold only tightened, Havi did the only thing she could under the circumstances.

Her knee jerked up, finding its target with painful accuracy. Immediately, Baltozar let her go, staggering back as he grabbed his crotch, gasping just as desperately as she was.

“What the hell’s got into you?” Havi shouted. She put the couch between them, unwilling to have to hurt him again but not keen to be at his mercy, either. “I told you I would be out late.”

“Late’s one thing,” he snarled. “All the time’s another. I want you to tell me what the fuck’s going on. What’s so goddamn hush hush about you being on the Hellmouth?”

When he began circling the furniture separating them, she countered his approach, all the while keeping her eyes trained for another attack. “You know what I am,” she said carefully.

“I know what you _were_. The seer’s dead, Havi. You’re not a part of that life any more.”

“Rose’s death changes nothing.” Somewhere, in the back of her head, she’d always known this confrontation would come. That Baltozar would push the envelope about her purpose in Sunnydale. And while Havi had her own suspicions about the extent of his involvement with the forces Rose had warned her about, she’d always hoped that his love for her would make him turn his back on it. There was a part of him that was good, deep inside, but often, she felt that she was the only one who could see it.

“Are you crazy? It changes everything. You’re a Protector with nothing to protect. If that doesn’t---.”

She must’ve betrayed something in her face, or else Baltozar made the connection more quickly than she would’ve ever imagined. He cut himself off, eyes narrowing in sly scrutiny, and stopped his prowling, regarding her in a growing silence that sent shivers across her skin.

“Who is it?” he asked suddenly.

“Who’s what?” she shot back.

She stood frozen as he took a step closer to her. The outward menace was gone, but in its place remained an eerie stillness that was almost more frightening.

“I know you’re up to something,” he said, his voice like rough silk. “I saw the scratches. And you know, I couldn’t help but wonder what you’d done to get them. In the middle of the night? Those don’t come from a normal workout.”

Her heart was hammering inside her chest when he advanced even more. Only Baltozar could mesmerize her like this, and while the danger of it was often exhilarating, there were other times when it made her wish she didn’t love him quite as much as she did.

“I always knew you were too eager to come with me,” he continued. He was within arms’ reach now, and stretched a hand to cup around the back of her neck, drawing her to him. “You wouldn’t just follow me because I asked you to. You came to the Hellmouth because you _had_ to.”

“I came because you asked me to,” she managed to say. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already.”

His thumb was making small circles in the hollow below her ear, but it didn’t feel tender. It felt dangerous. Like he was preparing to squeeze. Havi stiffened.

“Why do you lie to me?” Baltozar murmured. “You know I love you, you know I’d do anything for you. Why can’t you tell me this one thing?”

“Because…” This close, she could smell the alcohol on his breath, suspected just what had been the impetus for his mood change. She whimpered when his mouth pressed into the juncture of her neck and shoulder, and then summoned all her strength to flatten her palms against his chest and push.

Baltozar stumbled backward, taken by surprise at her show of power, but when he moved toward her again, Havi was swift to reposition the couch between them.

“If you can’t trust me,” she said, “how do you expect me to trust you?”

“Because I love you.”

“Is that enough?”

He cocked his head. “It was before tonight.”

“Remarkable how that coincides with you attacking me so tonight, then, isn’t it?”

“I didn’t---.”

“Why are you doing this?” Havi demanded. His face was growing increasingly mottled, the efforts to contain his temper beginning to falter. “I was out, and now I’m home. Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” Baltozar said through clenched teeth.

She skittered away to avoid his sudden lunge, ending right next to the still-open front door. “And here I thought helping you kill Rose would’ve proved my loyalty,” she whispered. “You know how hard that was for me. Thank you for making it meaningless.”

With that, she whirled and dashed out the door, disappearing into the darkness.

* * *

It took Buffy a few minutes of riding in stiff silence to realize something must’ve happened while she was in the store. Willow had gone from gabble girl to Marcel Marceau, curling into the corner of the backseat and staring out the window. Spike, on the other hand, couldn’t stop fidgeting while he was driving, changing the radio station every other second, playing with his rearview mirror, even pulling out the little Pez dispenser that had caught her eye and downing all its candy in one single gulp, like an addict popping his pills.

She wasn’t going to ask about it, though. Too much other stuff had gone on that night for her to be adding to the chaos inside her head; she wasn’t about to voluntarily add to it if she didn’t have to.

When they pulled up in front of the dorm, Willow surprised Buffy with a thin hand on her shoulder.

“If it’s not a big deal,” Willow said, her eyes darting from Buffy to Spike, and then back to Buffy again, “I’d kind of like a little bit of time alone. Just to…decompress.”

She didn’t like the idea of leaving Willow alone. “Are you sure?”

Willow nodded. “It’ll give you some alone time with Spike,” she said with a smile. Another glance, even more noticeable this time, and Buffy was convinced that something big really had been said between the two. “And…maybe you could go check on Oz? Not that I think anything will happen tonight, but…better to be safe than sorry.”

As much as she hated the idea of abandoning her best friend, Buffy had to agree on the goodness of ensuring Oz’s wellbeing, and gave Willow a quick hug before watching her head up the dorm walk. “You heard the girl,” she said when she slid back into the car. “Upward and Ozward.”

She waited until he’d pulled back onto the main street. “So,” Buffy said brightly, half-turning to face Spike, “feel like playing twenty questions? I’ll go first. What secret are you and Willow not sharing?”

He frowned as he glanced over at her. “Me and Red? You’re kidding, right? There’s no secret, luv. Girl’s just a bit rattled. Not that I can blame her.”

“OK, let’s try this again. How about…what were you and Willow talking about when I was getting the Slurpees?”

This time, she noticed the way his fingers tightened around the steering wheel before he answered, and knew she’d struck a nerve. “Red’s just worried about you, is all,” Spike said. “She wanted to know if I thought you were all right.”

The words came easily to him, flowing with either the ease of truth or the practice of a century of lying. Buffy’s gut told her that it was more of the former. “So, why does she want us to have some alone time?” she pressed.

“Maybe because it’s only a matter of time before the little one’s goin’ to make that a precious commodity.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t thought of that. And it made sense for Willow to. For whatever reason, Willow had become head cheerleader of the Support Spike squad, and worry about Buffy’s pregnancy was a prime example of how she would want to ignore her own issues.

They were both quiet for a couple blocks as they lapsed into their own thoughts. As they approached the corner to turn left toward Oz’s hideaway, Spike suddenly swerved the steering wheel in the opposite direction, pulling them into the empty parking lot of the public library and killing the engine.

“What’re you doing?” Buffy asked with a tiny frown.

He didn’t answer, just opened his door and got out of the car. After a moment of watching him pace through the window, Buffy got out, too.

“What’s your problem?” she demanded, coming around the front of the car. She took a defensive stance by his door, barring his way with arms folded over her chest. “You’ve been acting all weird since we left 7-Eleven.”

Whirling with a sweep of black leather, Spike marched back to face her, opening his mouth as if to speak. He froze like that for a second, and then his jaw snapped shut again with an audible click, his feet spinning to send him stalking off in the opposite direction.

Now she was starting to get pissed off. With her hands balled into fists, Buffy strode forward and grabbed his shoulder, forcing him to turn around and look at her again.

“If you’ve got something on your mind,” she said, “then say it. Otherwise, quit with this passive-aggressive shit because it’s driving me crazy.”

He stared down at her, his skin glowing beneath the street lights, his eyes abnormally blue in spite of the moonlit sky. “Fine,” he finally said. “You got your question. I want mine.”

“Fine. What is it?”

His jaw twitched. “Would you really rather I had my soul back? Is that what it’s going to take to get a real place in your life?”

It wasn’t what she’d been expecting to hear, and the fact that he sounded more like William in that moment---both in choice of words and in intonation---only made it strike all that much deeper into Buffy’s chest.

“Why would you ask that?” she said faintly, but Spike was already shaking his head before she’d finished the question.

“Don’t try and deny that you haven’t thought of it,” he warned. “Red told me all about your little conversation.”

“Willow has a big mouth,” Buffy muttered.

It was his turn to grab her, to stop her from turning away. “Just tell me,” he said, and his voice was low from the entreaty he was trying so desperately to contain. “You’re the only one who ever thought I was just fine the way I am, Buffy. You’re the only one who’s ever believed that…” He stopped, choking on the next words, and all the anger that had been wound tightly inside of her dissipated at the bleak look she caught in his eyes before he turned his head.

“It’s not the way you think,” she said, taking a step closer.

“No point in sugarcoating it, Buffy. Just thought…after everything…” He glanced back at her through his lashes, the tilt of his head curiously diffident. “Is it true, then? You want me all souled up so you can have your Angel redux?”

“No!” Hearing Angel’s name made her snap. “Why would you think such a thing? When have I _ever_ compared you to Angel?”

“You tell me. You’re the one who brought up this whole soul business.”

“I was only asking Willow what she thought about it because we’d just left Giles’ and telling everybody about the baby, and I was trying to figure out a way for everyone to get along. Did Willow tell you _that_? Of course not,” she said, answering her own question. “Because you probably didn’t give her the chance to. You got all tied up in your Angel jealousy, when, really, there’s nothing for you to be jealous of. If anything…” She poked him in the chest to emphasize her words. “… _he_ should be jealous of _you_.”

Spike snorted, shaking his head. “I’d _love_ to hear you try and justify that one, pet,” he said. “Angel’s too puffed up with his delusions of self-importance to ever give a toss about me, one way or another.”

“Oh, yeah?” Buffy lifted her chin defiantly. “So, you _don’t_ think he’s going to turn green when he finds out that I’m pregnant and he’s not the father? Better yet, that I’m pregnant with _your_ baby? Oh, wait, how about finding out I’m pregnant, you’re the father, and that I love you in ways that make what he and I had look like puppy love? We’re talking the Jolly Green Giant of Jealousy, Spike. So trying to turn this soul thing around on me? _So_ not going to work.”

She waited for the snide retort, for the blatant ignoring of her point, but it never came. Instead, a look of wonder softened his face, and his lips moved silently for a moment before vocalizing his words.

“You said it,” Spike murmured. “I didn’t think you’d…do you mean it?”

It took racking her brains over what she’d just uttered to realize what he was referring to. For a split second, Buffy panicked, furious with herself for giving voice to the feelings that had been warring inside her over the past few days, the past few weeks. But when Spike’s delight started to fade as he became aware of her runaway adrenaline, he lifted a tentative hand to cup her cheek, and her terror faded away.

“Yes,” she said softly. It was just easier to admit, she decided. She’d been skirting saying anything resembling the words since she’d seen him at the Factory, though she’d said almost everything but. They both deserved to have it out in the open at last. “I love you. I’ve loved you since I was lucky enough to find you in those first dreams.”

He stiffened slightly, his hand stilling. “You met William in those dreams,” Spike said carefully.

“And I told you last night, I was wrong to try separating the two of you. I know he’s still inside you. Everything I love about William is standing in front of me right now.”

“But…the soul?”

She turned her head into his hand, closing her eyes to succumb to the sensation of his skin. “I was feeling overwhelmed,” she admitted. “Mom and Giles were freaking out about the baby, and you, and I was reaching for straws, trying to figure out a way to get them onboard with the idea of us.” Buffy looked up then, meeting the brilliant blue of his gaze. “But I’d already decided that it was a no go when I saw you that afternoon,” she went on. “I’m not going to pretend to understand why Angel was so different without his soul, but I just can’t believe that you getting yours back is going to make any real change to the William that I know. You wrote me all those letters without the benefit of a soul, all that poetry, all those beautiful words. You _love_ me as much now as you did in London. And I can see how hard you’re trying to fit in with my life here. What difference is getting the soul going to make?”

Suddenly, she was crushed to his chest, his arms like iron around her, his lips seeking hers in a fervent kiss. They were both trembling by the time their mouths parted, and Spike leaned his forehead against hers, his lashes tickling her brow.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know what I promised, and I know you never promised anything in return, but I started dreaming, right? There’s so much that’s good between us, and with it all…when Red said how you’d asked about the soul, it just brought it all crashing down.”

“We’ve both got a lot of stuff to deal with,” Buffy replied, just as quietly. “But what’s important is that we’re all in this together. This is what being in my life for real is like, Spike. It means relying on each other, and trusting each other. That’s how we get from day to day. That’s how we always end up on top.”

His lips pressed to her skin for a fleeting moment before he straightened. “Well, as long as you promise that I get to be on top at least part of the time, I think I can work with that,” he said, with a suggestive smirk.

Buffy smiled. “You know, the sexual innuendo thing has a completely different effect coming from you than it did when you were human.”

“Different, as in _more_ shagging?”

Pushing his hands playfully away, she turned back to the car. “If you want to be the one to explain to Willow why we didn’t get around to checking on Oz, then sure.”

Scowling, Spike shook his head as he opened his door. “Dirty pool, pet. You know he’s the one bloke who’s been decent to me here.”

The grin she shot him was brilliant. “I know.”

He grabbed her as soon as she slid into her seat, pressing his mouth to hers in a quick and hungry kiss. “You could always say it again to make up for me having to wait for you,” he said.

“I love you, Spike,” Buffy murmured. She pulled away to meet his eyes. “Can I call you William sometimes?” she asked quietly. “Sometimes, it just feels right, but…I didn’t know how wiggy you’d think it was.”

“Thing is…” A strong hand pushed back her hair, his head tilting to drink in her moonlit visage. “With you, I _can_ be him. I can let the git out without bein’ afraid of what you’re going to say.”

“Does that mean I can?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “’Course. Just not in front of Harris. I have a rough enough time with that boy’s mouth as it is.”

They each settled back into their seats as Spike turned the ignition. “So, this thing with Xander’s mouth you have,” she teased. “Is this something for me to be jealous about?”

“Watch it, luv.”

Her laughter floated through the open window.

* * *

She feigned unconsciousness until Wesley had left her alone in her hotel room. Only then did Esme open her eyes, staring up at the black void above her head.

The bloodletting hadn’t gone as she’d anticipated. When young Willow had grabbed her hand, the blood making contact with Esme’s aged skin had burned with the force of a thousand suns, ending just as abruptly as it had started. There had been a long moment when Esme was convinced she was finally going to die, but when the pain vanished, and she’d woken to the hushed voices of the Watchers discussing what had occurred, all fear had fled.

There was no need to conduct an analysis of Willow’s blood. Esme knew now how she could set about getting back her magic. The pinprick and the Watchers had told her everything she needed to know.

They had said Willow had healed the tiny injury, and that that had been the impetus for Esme to collapse and break the magical circle that protected them. Rupert and Wesley had then gone on to discuss how Willow had done the same thing during a vampire attack a previous evening, being injured and then using the magic to both fight back and heal the wounds that had been left.

It was the blood.

When Willow’s blood flowed, so did the magic, returning to its source.

Returning to Esme.

She had felt it, in those precious seconds, beneath the pain. She had felt it in her hotel room when she’d first arrived in California, when it had woken her from her sleep before dissipating like mist. The magic had been hers again.

To get it permanently, all it would take was Willow’s death. Destroy the vessel, and the power would have nowhere to go but back to where it had originally been stolen.

Esme smiled.

She did so adore simplicity. And what could be more simple than a full circle?


	25. The Living Record of Your Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LV.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy has admitted to Spike that she loves him, Esme has deduced what she needs to do to get her  
> magic back, and Havi and Baltozar have had a huge fight, resulting in her walking out on him…

Buffy’d hoped to sneak back into her dorm before anybody else was up. This spending the night at Spike’s hotel was starting to make her look skanky. But when she’d tried slipping out of the bed before dawn, Spike’s arm had curled around her waist, pulling her back into his naked body and against his rock-hard erection, and the rest was just a matter of nature taking its course.

In fact, nature decided to take a couple laps. Which was why she was only now drumming her fingers on the arm rest of the passenger door, waiting for Spike to pull up to a comfortable enough stop before hopping out and making the run for her room.

“You’ve got time until your first class,” Spike said. One hand twisted the wheel to navigate closer to the curb, while the other reached across the distance between them and curled around her wrist to tug her toward him. “No reason to be so jumpy.”

“I’m not jumpy,” Buffy protested. “I just don’t want to look like a ho. Getting that kind of a rep my first few weeks will stick, no matter what I do, and that’s trouble I don’t need.”

He nuzzled his face in her loose hair, just breathing in her scent. He’d been doing that a lot since she’d let slip how she really felt about him, and while Buffy found it more than a little endearing the way he still seemed so in awe of the revelation, the smelling thing was borderline creepy.

“Could just stay with me,” he murmured. A cool hand began stroking along the exposed skin at her waist, sending shivers along Buffy’s spine in spite of the heat inside the car. “Forget this dorm nonsense and let me take care of you, good and proper.”

“Oh, because that’s an _excellent_ way to win over Mom’s support.” Firmly, Buffy extricated herself from his embrace. “It’s too soon, Spike. You know that. Mom’ll freak if she finds out I’m bailing on school stuff, and the first person she’s going to blame is you. You want this to be even harder than it is?”

Scowling, Spike slumped back in his seat, pulling his cigarettes out from his duster pocket. “Sure,” he said, sticking one between his lips. “Throw logic back in my face.”

She plucked the cigarette from his mouth and slid back to her side of the car. “And no smoking in front of me any more,” she chided. Pushing open the door, she checked for ambient light before letting it swing wide, dropping the cigarette to the ground and smashing it with the toe of her boot. “I actually have lungs that still work.”

“Bossy bint,” he grumbled, but shoved the pack into his pocket with enough good humor to tell her that he didn’t really mind all that much.

Buffy got out of the car, then turned when a soft roar of an engine pulled up behind the Thunderbird. She watched as Oz nodded at her through the windshield, only calling out in greeting when he climbed out of the van.

He didn’t say a word as he strolled up to her side, peering inside and giving another nod to Spike. “This what Devon’s friend set you up with?” he asked Spike.

“Yeah. Owe you a pint for hooking me up with him, mate.”

“Sounds like a fair trade.” He straightened, looking back to Buffy. “Is everything all right with Willow?” he asked. “She’s usually around when I wake up.”

Her blood chilled. Oz still didn’t know about what had happened at Giles’. Crap. Why did she always have to be the bearer of not so great tidings?

“Look, Oz---.”

But she didn’t get any further before he caught on to her reluctance. “What happened?” Oz demanded. “You didn’t just come from the hospital, did you?”

“No. Willow’s up in our room. But…things were a little shaky last night.”

In the car, Spike snorted. “Only for the old witch. Red gave her what-for, for tryin’ to pull that kind of stunt.”

“What stunt?”

“We’re not sure. Esme passed out right after. Giles was going to find out what exactly was going on.”

“But Willow’s all right?”

“She should be. I never heard from her otherwise.”

With a curt nod, Oz took a step toward the dorm and then stopped, choosing instead to bend down again and address Spike. “What’re you doing today?” he asked.

“Didn’t have any plans.”

“Feel like coming with me to Giles’?”

“So long as it’s not for tea and crumpets.”

Oz straightened. “I’m going to check on Willow before heading over and finding out what happened.”

“What about psych class?” she asked.

“I’ll get Willow’s notes later. I’ve got a feeling this is a little more important.”

* * *

No better way to start the day than with sugary goodness, Xander thought with a smile as he took the bag from the cashier. I’ll just eat my donut and then---.

He stopped in mid-turn. A bowed head at a table outside the Espresso pump had caught his attention, and the sight of the unmistakable neck studs had made his body instantly hard.

I’m a sick, sick bastard, Xander groused silently as he stared at Havi’s back. It was the only explanation why just the sight of the piercings would arouse him so. Of course, he’d spent the greater part of the previous day fantasizing about her in one way or another, so maybe it was just the fact that he really, really, _really_ needed to get laid that was sending his body into overdrive just from seeing her back. Yeah, that was it. Had to be.

Carefully, he edged away from the counter, taking care not to spill his steaming coffee. _Maybe she won’t see me_. His eyes darted to where his beat-up car was parked on the curb outside, just a few feet away from she sat, and he frowned. _Only if I suddenly turn into the Invisible_ _Man_.

Of course, he’d somehow managed to get in without even seeing her there, so maybe it was just a matter of keeping his eyes away and being nonchalant. In and out, like getting coffee and donuts was the most natural thing in the world for him.

His cock twitched.

OK, maybe in and out was the wrong phrase of choice here.

With his eyes downcast, Xander pushed open the coffee shop door, keeping his attention on his coffee and doing his best to look deep in thought. Even if she did see him, maybe she wouldn’t bug him for fear of disrupting some internal concentration. He’d actually taken two whole steps to his car when he heard it.

The sniffle.

Damn it. He recognized that sound.

His two best friends were girls. There was no way on this green earth he could not know what a post-crying jag sniffle sounded like. And Havi was the only one on the outside patio, other than himself, and he knew for a fact that _he_ hadn’t been the one to make the noise.

Damn it.

His feet hesitated, and he risked stealing a glance sideways.

A paper cup of coffee sat on the table in front of her, a shiny film across its surface indicating its age. Today’s newspaper was folded open to the classifieds at her side, but Havi was no longer looking at it, staring instead at some spot only she could see on the sidewalk. She still wore the clothes she’d worn the previous day, rumpled slightly as only twenty-fours of continued wear could do, but at her neck, barely visible beneath her shirt’s collar, was a sight Xander was all too familiar with.

Bruises. Hand and finger-shaped bruises so large as to only be of the male persuasion.

He was stepping forward before he could tell his feet not to, and the hand with his coffee lowered to set his own cup in front of her.

“It tastes a lot better when it’s hot,” he said. He flashed his widest smile when she turned dark eyes to stare at him. “Go on. Try mine for comparison.”

She didn’t move, just continued to look at him, her gaze unwavering, inscrutable. This close, he could see the unmistakable swelling in her face that could only come from crying, but all evidence of it was gone, the whites of her eyes clear, her cheeks free of tear tracks. Only the sniffles remained.

“Mr. Harris,” she said, in that curiously accented voice of hers.

“Xander,” he corrected. “The only time anyone calls me Mr. Harris is when they think I’m my dad, or I’m in trouble, and neither of those options has me jumping with joy, let me tell you.”

“Why are you here?”

His smile faded in confusion, and he lifted his donut bag to give it a little shake. “Same reason you are, I think.”

“No.” She looked pointedly at his coffee, and then back to him. “I meant, why are you giving me your drink?”

He shrugged. “Because yours is cold.” He waved to the other seat. “Can I sit down?”

Her nod was tentative, her dark brows thickening as they drew together. Ignoring her discomfort, Xander straddled the other chair, ripping open his bag and settling it between them. “Help yourself,” he said.

Now he knew something really was wrong. He was sharing his donut. With Havi, of all people. That was the second sign of the apocalypse, wasn’t it?

She didn’t take any, but the set of her shoulders softened, her pose relaxing slightly in the uncomfortable seat. “I’m not hungry,” she said in explanation. “But…thank you.”

Now that he was actually talking to her, Xander wasn’t so sure of what he was going to say. Mentioning the clothes was out; girls hated having wardrobe issues brought up. And he really didn’t want to bring up the bruises if he didn’t have to. How would he explain that he’d seen them? _“I was staring at your neck and thinking how much I’d like to jump your bones, and gee, did some guy use you as a punching bag or something?”_

Yeah. That would go over really smooth.

So, he picked the most innocuous thing he could find to start a conversation.

“Whatcha looking to get?” he asked, nodding toward the newspaper.

Her eyes flickered to her side, a shadow darkening her face. “A place to stay,” Havi replied.

“I think it must be that time of the month or something,” he joked, remembering Giles’ comments about Spike and Wesley needing to find someplace to live in Sunnydale as well. “Getting tired of the Holiday Inn party lifestyle?”

“I’m not staying in a hotel.”

“Oh. Friends kicking you out then? I hate it when that happens, though in my case, it wasn’t a friend, so much as my dad. But he _did_ let me move back in after the summer. And charged me the rent to prove it.”

“No. I’m not…” She paused. She was having trouble meeting his eyes, he realized, but he waited as she reached and pulled a tiny morsel from his donut. “Where I’ve been staying…is no longer entirely safe.”

He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly why it wasn’t safe. And for some reason, watching her nibble at the crumb she’d taken from his offering, Xander wanted to be part of the solution to help her get that feeling of security back.

“Let’s see here,” he said, reaching across the table to grab the paper. He scanned the columns, noting the smudges where her fingers must’ve lingered extra long. “Well, this one’s out of the question. Bad neighborhood. Lots of miscreants. Lots of mister-creants, too, for that matter.”

“What are you doing?”

He glanced up. Havi watched him, confusion clear on her face. “Helping you find a place.”

“Why?”

“Because you said you _need_ a place.”

“But I didn’t ask for you to help me. Why are you doing this?”

Chewing at his cheek, Xander considered his words before answering. “You’re here to help Willow and Buffy, right?” he finally said.

“Yes.”

“There you go then.”

She shook her head. “I still don’t understand.”

He dropped the paper to the table with a sigh, leaning forward to address her more directly. “Willow and Buffy are my best friends. That puts you and me on the same side, which, frankly, is more than a little reassuring considering I think you could probably take both Xena and Wonder Woman without even breaking a sweat.” He felt a twinge of satisfaction when her lips quirked. Maybe she wasn’t so hard after all. “So, since I happen to be a resident expert on everything Sunnydale, it only makes sense that you let me help you find someplace to live that doesn’t need anything more than the requisite stake beneath the pillow in order to be safe.”

Taking another pinch from the donut, Havi chewed it thoughtfully before giving him a curt nod. “I accept,” she announced, and then paused before adding, “Though I’d prefer to think that I would be even more effective against _real_ warriors.”

He did a double take. “Was that a joke you just made?” Xander said, amazed. There _had_ to be an apocalypse on the way. Buffy was pregnant by Spike, Willow was setting mysterious vigilante guys on fire, and now Havi was cracking jokes. He glanced up at the sky. Still blue. No hellfire raining down.

Might be worth it just to be careful anyway.

* * *

Spike ignored Giles’ disparaging looks as he propped his boots up on the coffee table. “What’s a bloke got to do to get some blood around here?” he complained in a too-loud voice.

“How is Willow?” Giles asked Oz, deliberately turning his back to the blond on the couch.

“Better. How’s Graham?”

“Still not speaking to me.”

“Well, that’s a bloody surprise,” Spike said, dryly. “You’re too busy serving the wanker his breakfast on a silver soddin’ tray. His mouth’s probably too full to do any talkin’.”

“I’m hardly goin’ to starve the man, Spike.”

“Well, you’re piddlin’ about with this interrogation business. He’s not goin’ to talk ‘til you give him a reason to, Rupert. Pull out the knives, show him the stakes. Do _something_. Buffy didn’t go to the bother of bringing him in to have you flake out on this.”

Giles lips thinned, his nostrils flaring, and for a second, Spike thought the Watcher might actually take a swing at him. “As a matter of fact,” he said, “I _do_ have a plan. And since you’re here, you can help. I could use your particular expertise.”

Spike leapt to his feet, rubbing his hands. “That’s more like it. Show me the weapons. Let’s get this torture rolling.” He froze when he spotted the book Giles thrust at him. “What’s this?”

“Your torture.”

“It’s old and dusty. Must be your datebook.”

“It’s a spellbook, actually. I believe it’s even older than you are.”

“And…what? I’m s’posed to thump him over the head with it until he spills what you want to know?”

Giles sighed, shoving the book into Spike’s hands and turning back to the kitchen. “We’re doing a truth spell. And your treat for showing up unannounced is getting to prepare the translation.”

He’d been about to sit again when the announcement came. “What? You’ve got to be bloody kidding me!” He trailed after Giles, holding out the book. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Rupert, my reputation when it comes to spellcasting is less than sterling. In fact, it’s pretty damn piss poor, so if you think---.”

“That’s why you’re not casting the spell. You’re merely helping me finish the translation while Oz fetches the remaining ingredients.” Giles held up a warning finger. “And don’t try to tell me you can’t,” he said. “I’m very well aware of your education.” He paused, his gaze calculating. “As is Buffy, I believe.”

There it was. The gauntlet. Thrown down in the form of a bloody book. There was no way Spike could refuse to help. Not without looking bad to Buffy.

Teamwork, she’d said. That was supposed to mean helping her tear the heads off the baddies out on patrol, not becoming some sort of unbreathing Latin primer for the tweed set.

He glared down at the text he still held in his hands. “Didn’t figure I’d be the one cracking the books today,” he said.

“Looks like I turned out to be the lucky one, then,” Oz said from the kitchen entrance. “Maybe you should ask Buffy to take notes for you, too.”

For a moment, Giles seemed flummoxed by the camaraderie between the two younger men, but Spike did nothing to ease his obvious questions. Let the old man stew a bit, he thought. Serve him right.

“What about Esme?” he asked instead, changing the subject at hand. It was a topic nearer to his interest, and Spike was surprised that Oz hadn’t jumped at it as soon as they’d stepped through the Watcher’s front door. Of course, Oz didn’t really seem like the jumping sort, and when Giles had immediately launched into the vigilante issue---which was just as important to Oz, for just as personal of reasons---there hadn’t been much opportunity for him to ask.

“She’s still unconscious,” Giles explained. “Wesley phoned me first thing this morning to let me know. As soon as he has the opportunity to question her, he will.”

“She’ll just lie to you,” Spike said. “That’s what she does.”

“Maybe we can do the truth spell on her, too,” Oz offered.

“Hopefully, it won’t come to that.” Ripping a sheet off his notepad, Giles handed it over to Oz. “This is the list of the ingredients I need. Hurry back so we can get started.”

“Oh, yes, do hurry,” Spike muttered. He stalked back to the living room and collapsed onto the couch, the book heavy in his hand. “Before the magic’s gone out of this relationship entirely.”

* * *

The thing about magic was that, for some inexplicable reason, it was always smelly. Spike didn’t care that he couldn’t breathe, but turning off one of his favorite senses just because Rupert wouldn’t know the right end of a bunch of motherwort from his ass hardly seemed fair.

Necessary, though. Because the entire flat stank to high heaven, and Spike was fairly sure that hell had got a good whiff of the stench as well.

The vigilante guy sat in the middle of the floor, still chained, a circle of herbs scattered around him. Oz stood near the open doorway, getting what fresh air he could, but Giles had recruited Spike to be in charge of the stinky portion of the spell, waving his little sheaf of weeds back and forth as he followed the Watcher around the circle, Rupert all the while reading the spell out loud.

He felt bloody ridiculous.

“Let no untruths be spoken,” Giles finished. He stopped where he faced Graham, tilting his head as he scrutinized the young man.

Spike sighed. “Well, get on with it then,” he complained as the seconds stretched on. “The thing about truth spells is that you’ve got to actually _talk_ to the bloke you’ve mojo’d if you want it to be of any use.”

“Yes, quite…” Giles cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose as he attempted to look stern. “I suppose we should start with some simple questions, then. What is your name?”

“Graham Dewitt Miller.”

There was no hesitation in the answer, which seemed to take Graham just as much by surprise as it did Giles. “And how old are you, Mr. Miller?”

“Twenty.”

“What town is this?”

“Sunnydale, California.”

Shaking his head, Spike tossed his herb bundle aside. “At this rate, we might get some real information ‘bout New Year’s,” he said.

“I’m testing the efficacy of the spell,” Giles explained.

“Then test it with something a little less obvious, mate. Those’re questions he would’ve answered with or without the mojo.”

Whether he would admit it out loud or not, Spike knew by the tightening of the Watcher’s mouth that Rupert recognized Spike had a point. He folded his arms across his chest and waited, blue eyes flashing in defiance, to see just whether it would make a difference.

“Mr. Miller,” Giles said, “do you know who I am?”

“No.” Graham squirmed against his chains, his stoic face creasing into probably the first expression Spike had seen on the man. “What did you do to me?” he asked, with a frown.

“It’s a truth spell.”

Graham grunted, shaking his head. “There’s no such thing as magic.”

For the first time, Spike grinned. “Well, this could be fun,” he drawled, but before he could say anything more, Giles was shooting him a dirty look, driving him to retreat to one of the stools at the breakfast bar to watch in glowering quiet.

“I assure you, magic is very real,” Giles continued. “And I’ve only resorted to such means because you’ve refused to talk to me any other way.”

“I can’t,” Graham said. “I’m under orders.”

It was the use of the word “orders” that pricked everyone’s ears. Combined with the shrinking the vigilante seemed to do within his chains, and Spike was suddenly much more interested in just what might get said.

“Orders?” Giles aped. “You’ve been instructed not to speak to anyone?”

“Yes.”

“For what purpose?”

“It’s a top secret operation. The public can’t find out or it will create havoc.”

Graham was starting to get agitated, the sweat starting to drip from his forehead. Giles, however, seemed oblivious to the physical changes his captive was undergoing, and started pacing as he asked his questions.

“What is it exactly you’re doing?” he queried.

“We capture HST’s for study and rehabilitation.”

“HST’s?

The room was silent while Giles waited for a reply. Finally, Spike piped in, “Forgot to phrase it in the form of a question, Rupert. Never heard of a little guy called Alex Trebek?”

“What is an HST?” Giles said to Graham, ignoring Spike’s commentary.

“Hostile sub-terrestrial. Demons.”

More silence, during which the only sounds were the chains rattling as Graham squirmed around and Giles’ quiet pacing.

“Am I the only one finding the idea of demons wearing stripes and making license plates just a little bit funny?” Oz said.

“Yes,” Graham replied.

Spike’s lips quirked at seeing the look of horror on the vigilante’s face at having answered such an inane question. “Think it’s funnier imagining a lot of these gits tryin’ to get prison stripes on a Fyarl without losin’ a chunk of flesh,” he said.

“You can’t be serious,” Giles said to Graham. “Why on earth would you capture demons instead of killing them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Is there some sort of…training program you have them undergo?”

“HST’s get implanted with a behavior modification chip. It renders them harmless to the general population.”

Something in the back of Spike’s mind triggered, and his amusement faded as he tried to grab hold of the thought. He barely registered Graham’s increasing distress, though the sound of the chains rattling was starting to reach ear-shattering levels.

“Were you under orders to capture Oz for such a chip?” Giles asked.

“Yes.”

“And who gave you the orders?”

The scream that was torn from Graham’s throat was curdling, and before any of the men in the room could react, he had slumped to the side, unconscious.

Giles rushed forward, hands flying expertly over the body to search for signs of life. “He’s passed out.”

“What happened?” Oz asked, coming in from the open doorway.

“I don’t know. Spike, help me lift him to the couch.”

He acted without thought, crossing to lift Graham effortlessly from the ground and stretching him out as best he could within the confines of the chains. This close to him, it was impossible not to notice the smell of fear emanating from the unconscious man, or the way the blood vessels had popped in his skin around his closed eyes. He’d been straining against something, and by the looks of it, it hadn’t felt pretty.

“Mr. Miller may not have believed in magic,” Giles observed, “but I’d wager whoever he works for does. I think he was triggered in some way to black out before revealing anything too incriminating.”

“Buggered, is more like it,” Spike said.

“It would appear that Xander’s observation might’ve been correct after all.”

“What was that?”

With a sigh, Giles removed his glasses and began to absently clean them. “Xander was convinced this was somehow related to the military. I…brushed him off.”

The reference to the military set off even more alarms in Spike’s head, and he frowned in consternation. There was something innately familiar about all this, but what it was exactly, he couldn’t quite put his finger on. He’d just have to mull it over while they waited for the git to wake up, though already, he was starting to get a headache from the combination of stinky herbs and forced concentration.

He sincerely hoped Buffy was having a better day than he was.

* * *

There was something oddly reassuring about walking to class with Willow. As weird as the past few days had been, and as much new stuff as had been thrown at her to deal with, Buffy knew she could find comfort in the familiar pattern of stepping down concrete paths, books tucked in her arm, gabbing away with Willow about boyfriends and bemoaning her own ineptitude at the academic arts. It made thinking about all the mystery and all the drama just a little bit easier. Simpler. Like this was the pattern of her world and all she had to do to follow it was put one foot in front of the other.

It helped that Willow was being so weirdly supportive of Spike. Buffy had called her on that again, up in their room after Oz had left, and had got the same non-answer Willow had given the last time she’d asked the question.

“He’s the father of your baby,” she’d said. “Don’t you want me to be supportive of him?”

What was she supposed to say to that? So, she took the gift of the acceptance for what it was, and filed it away as something that they’d talk about at a much later date, preferably one after this magic business was fixed for Willow.

For her part, Willow seemed in much better spirits today, babbling away about what was coming up in class and the joys of advanced education as only she could do. It wasn’t until they were entering the lecture hall that Buffy brought up the incident with Esme.

“I don’t know,” Willow said in response to how she felt about it. “On the one hand, I’m still all freaked out by it, you know, with the not knowing what I’m doing part or what Esme wanted in the first place. And on another hand, it’s kind of empowering, because Giles is really kind of right. I _can_ take care of myself. And then, on another hand, there’s this whole sense of awe that I’ve got all this power tucked away in me, just waiting to come out, and wouldn’t it be cool if I could just figure out how to harness it. And then, I think that I’m just a freak no matter how I look at it, because apparently, I have three hands.”

Buffy giggled at the image. “Could you see me with three hands?” she asked. “I would be _so_ effective then. Cut patrolling time right in half, I bet.”

They were still laughing over the advantages of various extra appendages when the doors to the lecture hall opened and Dr. Walsh came striding confidently in, a tall young man a few steps behind.

“Good morning,” she said to the class, setting her folders down on the desk. “As you can see, I’m not alone today. Though Riley will be sorely missed, I have found a replacement for him, so that both you and I can make this a productive semester. You, because you won’t have to put up with me all the time, and me, because I won’t have to do all my own grading any more.” A small titter rippled through the room. “You don’t know him, as he’s not a student here, but I can assure you his credentials are impeccable. I taught him myself, back in New York, and he was one of my star pupils.”

Stepping aside, she half-turned toward him for the introduction. “Ladies and gentleman, I’d like you to meet my new teaching assistant, Robin Wood.”


	26. To Play the Watchman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LXI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: With Spike and Oz’s help, Giles cast a truth spell on Graham and discovered the truth about why the Initiative is after the demons, but Graham passed out when asked about who he works for; Xander ran into Havi and volunteered to help her find a new place to live; and Maggie introduced her new teaching assistant, Robin Wood, to Buffy’s psych class…

It was hard not to stare. He hadn’t seen any pictures, and he’d only had the brief document Maggie had faxed to him in New York---and he _really_ had to have a talk with her about her prose; working with the military was turning it into tumbleweed---but Robin spotted Buffy Summers even before Maggie so discreetly made her identity known by calling on her to answer a question.

It was the way she played with her pencil that convinced him. The dexterity. The controlled power.

Which was a good thing for the Slayer, because when it came to intelligence, Robin wasn’t entirely sure why she was wasting her time in college.

Not that she didn’t try. But when Maggie ignored all the raised hands and instead called on Buffy to answer the question about how to solve problems with the scientific method, the girl had stammered out an ass-backward reply that left Maggie tapping her foot and the Slayer flushed in embarrassment. The redhead sitting next to her had jumped in to answer when the Slayer lost the thread, but it didn’t stop the blonde from sinking into her seat, eyes returning to her notebook and her mind returning to whatever daydream had been involving her when she’d first been called upon.

He’d not really had a lot of contact with Slayers over the years, except for the odd occasions when a Watcher showed up on Bernard’s doorstep needing someplace for his Slayer to spend a night. Those were rare, and always awkward, and eventually they had stopped altogether as Bernard distanced himself from the Council. But in spite of his lack of physical interaction, Robin was very well-versed in the histories, the Watcher methodology, anything that was written down about the Slayers. He’d read it all.

Buffy Summers didn’t seem to fit anything he’d ever studied. Physical looks were always deceiving; he knew that. But this distracted, California girl thing she had going for her didn’t seem like an act. It was hard to believe that she’d survived almost four years as a Slayer, when his own mother, a woman more dedicated to the mission than any other he’d ever read about, had lasted only a little over five. It was even harder to imagine that Maggie was worried about her interfering in whatever projects the military was running these days.

This was going to be an interesting puzzle to fathom out. As long as he could get himself to stop staring at her long enough to actually concentrate on the teaching part of why he was in Sunnydale.

* * *

She’d never been so relieved for a class to end before in her life. As soon as Dr. Walsh dismissed them, Buffy was twisting to stuff her books into her bag, desperate to be free of the humiliation that still shrouded her like an ethereal dunce cap. _Memo to self?_ _Daydreaming equals bad_. _Just say no._

She hadn’t meant to drift away from the lecture. It was just that Dr. Walsh was _so_ boring to listen to. The woman only had one tone to her voice, and Buffy was fairly certain she only had that one on loan. It was inevitable, really. And it wasn’t like she’d raised her hand to answer the teacher’s stupid question anyway. Shouldn’t that be the first clue that she wouldn’t know it if she was called on?

She heard a ripping sound as she shoved the last notebook into the bag, and grimaced as she turned it over and saw the tear in the bottom seam. “Great,” Buffy muttered. “The perfect ending to the perfect class.”

“Actually, I thought it was really interesting,” Willow chimed in with a smile. “And I don’t know why you’re complaining. The new TA has totally been checking you out all hour.”

“No, he’s staring at the stupid girl, wondering how she ever got into college,” Buffy replied.

Willow shook her head. “Nah, I’m going with checking out.”

“Miss Summers.”

She winced at the sound of Dr. Walsh’s voice, but put on her best smile when she turned to face the teacher. “Yes?”

“I’d like to speak with you for a moment. Please. Stick around.”

Buffy’s face fell the second Dr. Walsh turned away. “That can’t be good.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Willow assured. “I’ll just wait out in the hall for you.”

The lecture hall emptied far too quickly, leaving Buffy alone with Dr. Walsh and the new teaching assistant. She fiddled with her bag strap, holding the bottom so that the contents wouldn’t spill out, while she waited for the professor to notice her. When the TA finally caught Buffy’s eye, he leaned over Dr. Walsh’s shoulder and whispered something in her ear.

“Right,” Dr. Walsh said. Reaching across her desk, she pulled out a blank sheet of university letterhead and scribbled out a quick note, folding it in half when she was done and passing it to Buffy. “Here.”

Buffy frowned. “What’s this?”

“The deadline for getting full reimbursement when dropping courses has passed,” came the terse reply. “That’s my statement for you to give enrolment requesting them to waive that for you.”

It took a moment for what she was saying to sink in. “You want me to drop?” Buffy asked, amazed.

Dr. Walsh lifted her head and stared at her with cold eyes. “You’re dead weight, Miss Summers,” she said bluntly. “Clearly, you’re not able to keep up with the class, even at this elemental level. It’s in both of our best interests if you get out now.”

“Look, I know I was out of it today, but…” She hesitated, debating if the pregnancy was a card she was willing to play. It would explain her distraction and---. No. It would likely just convince the professor that it was an even better idea for her to drop. “I haven’t been well,” she said instead. “I’ve had this stomach bug, and it’s been affecting my sleep. Please, Dr. Walsh. I can do this. Just tell me how I can prove that to you.”

The woman’s lips thinned while she considered Buffy’s words. “Tutoring,” she finally said. “Demonstrate a strong score on the first test, and I’ll drop the matter.”

She almost sighed in relief. She could do tutoring; her best friend was a brainiac. This was going to be OK.

“Arrange a time to meet with Robin,” Dr. Walsh said as she picked up her materials and started heading for the door. “I expect improvement from you, Miss Summers. Don’t let me down.”

Buffy exhaled as soon as the woman was gone, turning back to face the assistant. “You know,” she said with her perkiest smile, “it’s really not necessary for you to help me. My best friend, Willow? She’s in this class, too, and wouldn’t you know it, but she tutored me all the way through high school, and did a bang-up job of it, I might add. I graduated and everything, and this _really_ isn’t helping my credibility, is it?”

Robin shook his head. “Look, I know Dr. Walsh can be a hardass, but trust me, inside that crusty exterior lies the heart of a real bitch.” They smiled together at his small joke, and Buffy found herself relaxing even more. “If you’re serious about sticking it out, Buffy, this doesn’t have to be so bad. We’ll set up some regular study sessions, and by the time the test comes around, you should be flying high.”

“I don’t suppose you give money back guarantees,” she teased.

“No, but I _can_ promise I won’t bite.” He held up two fingers. “Scouts honor.”

* * *

At the very least, Giles didn’t have to put up with Spike’s annoying commentary any longer. Ever since the hostage had passed out, Spike’s mood had grown increasingly ruminative, and he’d only made a single sarcastic remark while moving the unconscious Graham back to the bathroom. He’d not even said anything when Oz volunteered to stand guard while they waited for Graham to wake up. Though it had been a welcome relief when Giles retired to the kitchen to make a pot of tea, now, nearly ten minutes later and with silence still prevailing in the other room, Giles was beginning to get unnerved.

“All right,” he said, carrying the tray to the living room. “Out with it.”

Spike stopped in the path he’d been wearing into Giles’ floor. “Not exactly the most romantic proposition I’ve had today,” he said with a cocked brow.

“Something’s clearly on your mind.” He paused, wary of asking but unable to resist the temptation. “Is this about Buffy?”

Rolling his eyes, Spike resumed his pacing. “Right,” he said. “’Cause old William’s not capable of havin’ a thought that’s not about Buffy. Be sure to remind me of that next time you’re wantin’ to pluck my brain for a spot of translation.”

Giles bit the inside of his cheek to keep from snapping back. “My apologies,” he said, his voice tight. “I shouldn’t have presumed.”

Sitting on the couch, he poured a cup of tea while pretending not to watch Spike out of the corner of his eye. It was hard to admit, but his doubts were growing about his personal opinions on the vampire. So much of Buffy and Lydia’s vehemence seemed justified at times, and then to see Oz not only accept Spike as a friend but to defend him as well…Giles had always believed Oz to be one of the more astute of Buffy’s friends. How could he discount an opinion merely because he disliked the subject in question?

“There’s something familiar ‘bout all this,” Spike said. “I’m just havin’ a devil of a time tryin’ to put my finger on it.”

“About which?” Giles asked.

“This twaddle with bureaucrats sticking their nose into demon business. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this wasn’t the first time it’s happened.”

“It’s not. You must be thinking of the Watcher’s Council.”

Spike snorted in derision, waving his hand in dismissal. “You’re givin’ that lot more credit than they deserve. Besides, don’t tell me they fuss with the rehab, because we both know that’s not true. Search and destroy. That’s their creed.” He shook his head. “It’s something else. Something about the military that sparks it.”

“It’s a shame, then, that enhanced memory isn’t a vampire trait,” Giles said, turning back to his tea.

“ _You_ try livin’ for a century and see how good your recollections are.”

“Yes, well…” At least, he now knew what was bothering Spike. It was probably best to leave him to his attempts to remember in peace.

Except said vampire seemed to have found his tongue again. “Speakin’ of Buffy…” Spike said, coming to a halt in front of the couch.

“I thought you said you weren’t?”

“I’m not. But since you brought her up, what’s to be done with her patrols now that she’s got the little one on the way?” His face was deadly serious, his eyes dark. “Demons find out the Slayer’s pregnant and they’re goin’ to think she’s weak enough to take on. Things could get a little sticky around Sunnyhell if you’re not careful.”

It was a situation Giles had considered. Between worrying about that and the Council’s reaction when they found out---because it was inevitable that they would, later rather than sooner, hopefully---Buffy’s pregnancy had occupied more time than any of the other issues at hand combined, including Willow’s magic and the hostage currently unconscious in his bathtub. It was almost reassuring to hear that the more pragmatic aspects of it were troubling Spike as well.

“I thought that was part of your purpose here,” he said, as casually as he could manage. “To… _be there_ for the Slayer? Stand by her as a testament to your feelings for her?”

Anger suddenly flared in Spike’s eyes. “This is an old argument, mate. I’m not in the mood to debate how I feel about Buffy. Accept it, and move on.”

“Fine. But I’m correct, aren’t I? You came to Sunnydale to help Buffy patrol.”

“That was part of it, yeah. But you know as well as I do that I can’t tell her she’s not goin’ to do something. Nothin’ gets her back up quicker.”

Giles sighed. Spike was right.

“I’m going to start working with her on relearning her center of balance,” Giles said. “It will help her until she realizes that she’s putting the baby at too great a risk by patrolling so regularly. The rest of us will have to take up the slack. We’ve done it before when Buffy’s been absent; I’m sure the others will be more than happy to do so again.”

“You get Red under control, she’ll be more powerful than the lot of you. Demons won’t stand a chance.”

He didn’t need to be reminded of the extent of Willow’s powers. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

Unexpectedly, Spike sat in the chair, leaning forward to rest his forearms against his knees as he addressed Giles. “I was planning on spreading the word in the community that takin’ on the Slayer means takin’ on me,” he said. “My rep should still count for something, and it’ll keep at least some of ‘em from even tryin’.”

Giles nodded. “If you’re comfortable with such a gesture, I think that’s a splendid idea.”

“Thing is, I don’t want Buffy to know.” His fingers twisted together as his gaze fell to the floor. “She’s got a lot to be dealing with right now, and---.”

“She would try to prove your contribution unnecessary,” Giles finished. “And probably do something foolhardy in the bargain.”

“Exactly.” He leveled his eyes, dark and solemn. “I’m not goin’ to be the reason she gets hurt, Rupert. I’ll stake myself before I let that happen.”

The funny thing was…Giles believed him. “I’ll do what I can to help,” he said.

With a relieved sigh, Spike leaned back, sprawling as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Now, if I could just bloody well remember this business about the military,” he complained good-naturedly. “Might make this day turn out a bit of all right, after all.”

* * *

He woke up cold and achy, his head feeling like a gang of Fyarl demons had used it for football practice. It had been a long time since Baltozar had had such a bad hangover, but considering how much he’d actually had to drink the night before, it wasn’t unexpected.

What _was_ unexpected was the fact that Havi hadn’t returned yet. Her side of the bed was unslept in, and there was no sign that she’d been in the apartment since he’d passed out. That wasn’t a good sign.

In spite of the pain in his head, Baltozar sped through a shower, getting dressed in record time, before racing out the door. She had to have been hurt, doing whatever it was she was keeping from him. It was the only explanation why she wouldn’t have come back. So what if they’d had a fight? They fought all the time. It had never stopped her from coming back to him before.

Just to be safe, he checked the hospital first. Relief flooded through him when they told her there was no one admitted under that name, but that just started his internal questions of whether she’d been actually killed before she could get medical attention. She could have bled out, unable to ask for help, while he was lying passed out in their bed. He should’ve stopped her from going. If she was dead, he was never going to forgive himself.

Cemeteries were next. The scratches she’d had could’ve come from fights, and if she was looking for violence, slaying vampires was a good way to do it on the Hellmouth. But two hours of tromping through landscaped greenery---and how many fucking graveyards did one city need, anyway?---only turned up a few open graves, and the one body he found had clearly been dead for over a week. He just kicked it to the side in his frustration.

It was when he was heading toward the demon bar he’d found that he spotted her. She was emerging from a low apartment building, wearing the same clothes she’d left in the night before, but it wasn’t the small smile he saw on Havi’s face that almost made him crash into the parked car opposite. It was the dark-haired man holding the door open for her, the one who led her to the tiny, beat-up car at the curb and then held _that_ door open for her, that made Baltozar want to rip the steering wheel from the driving column.

He drove around the block while he tried to calm his racing nerves. By the time he was in front of the apartment building again, Havi and her unknown friend were gone, though with as small as this town was, Baltozar wasn’t worried about picking up her trail. That wasn’t what he wanted, though. Instead, he pulled into the spot they’d left vacant and proceeded to head inside.

The manager’s office was just inside the entrance, and he silently gave thanks that it was a woman behind the desk. Elderly, sure, and just a few pounds shy of hitting that three hundred pound mark, but he had a better shot at getting information from her than he would a guy.

“Can I help you?” she asked, her eyes darting to the tattoos on his arms.

He gave her his most charming smile. “I was supposed to meet some friends here,” he said, and then smiled wider when she caught his accent. _Stupid Americans_. “Her name is Havi Aronowicz?”

“Oh! She and her boyfriend were just here. You’ve only just missed them.”

His blood chilled at the appellation, but he did his best not to let it show. “I don’t suppose you were able to help her?” he asked, glancing at the paperwork that was littered across the desk.

“Oh, my, yes. As soon as Xander agreed to vouch for her, I put her lease application straight into my accepted pile. He’s a good boy, that Xander Harris. He was best friends with my grandson until Jesse got killed their sophomore year. Tragedy, really. But Xander pulled through. He even took over mowing my lawn afterward, wouldn’t let me pay him a nickel…”

The rest of her babbling was lost on him as Baltozar’s ire flamed within his veins. So, Havi thought she was moving out, did she? He hadn’t done all this just to lose her at this point, and no do-gooder teenager was going to take her away. He’d skip out of the Hellmouth altogether if that was what it was going to take to get Havi’s head straight again.

He barely remembered thanking the old woman and making his way back out to the street. Climbing behind the steering wheel, Baltozar stared blankly at the road ahead while he debated what he was going to do next.

She was going to need her stuff. If Havi was going to try and move out, at some point or another she’d go back to their apartment for her few belongings.

Viciously, he turned the key in the ignition. He knew what he had to do now. Wait. Not exactly his strong suit, so if Havi didn’t want her new friend to lose more than his balls when they showed up, she’d better make it quick.

* * *

Her bones literally ached by the time she reached Giles’ door, but before Buffy could knock, it opened to reveal a frowning Watcher and a triumphant Spike standing not too far behind.

“Told you it was her,” Spike said. “One of these days, you might want to start believing me.” His glee faded as he drank in the sight of her, taking a step closer. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice softening.

Buffy shook her head, brushing past Giles to head straight for the sofa. “I’m dumb,” she complained, collapsing into the corner.

“You’re not dumb,” Spike countered. He sat down next to her, settling his arm across the back of the couch instead of touching her. “What happened?”

Though she had been frugal with public displays, especially considering how Giles had reacted about the baby news, Buffy acted on instinct, sliding across to nestle into Spike’s side. “My psych teacher hates me,” she mumbled as she buried her face in his shirt. “College sucks.”

The soothing flex of his muscles beneath her cheek was followed by a familiar arm around her back when he drew her even closer to him. “It can’t be that bad,” Spike murmured. Strong fingers began stroking her hair, settling some of the tension that had been eating at Buffy the entire walk from campus.

“It is. She tried to get me to drop her class today because she said I was dead weight.” Pulling back slightly, she met his worried gaze with a small pout. “I’m not dead weight, am I?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “’Course not.”

“Is this the same teacher that Riley Finn worked with?”

In the circle of Spike’s arms, Buffy had forgotten that Giles was even in the room, and twisted to see him looking down at them with a frown on his worn face. “Yeah,” she said. “But she’s got a replacement for him already. Some guy named Robin.”

Spike snorted. “Limp-wristed nancyboy, if you ask me.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you saw him. Which, unfortunately, is going to be _my_ fate three extra days a week for the next month.”

His arms stiffened around her. “What’s that?”

Briefly, Buffy explained what had happened, glossing over just how badly she’d fudged the answer when she’d been called on. “But it all comes back to the same thing,” she ended grumpily. “This whole college thing is just one big fat mistake.”

“Now you listen to me.” Grasping her upper arms, Spike held her slightly away from him as he leveled his gaze at her. “We’ve had this discussion, yeah? And I know I was a bit of an old-fashioned git at the time, but that doesn’t change the fact that you deserve to be at that school. It’s a door, Buffy. And it can be as simple to open it as you want it to be.”

Maybe it was something in his tone, or maybe it was the fact that he’d chosen her own words against her to make his argument, but in that second, Buffy wasn’t on Giles’ lumpy couch. She was back in the park, with an injured shoulder, trying not to cry as she told a sensitive young poet about why her life was so much harder than he might imagine.

_“This…Angel,” William said, his gaze speculative, “if you will pardon my saying so…he rather strikes me as a fool.”_

_His words took her by surprise, and Buffy took a half-step back, looking up at him with wide eyes. “What?” she asked. “Why would you… you don’t even know him.”_

_“I daresay I don’t need to. You say he left?”_

_“…Yes.”_

_“And he gave you no opportunity for recourse?”_

_“Huh?”_

_“He left without discussing any options for his staying?”_

_“Oh. Yeah.”_

_“But he said he loves you.”_

_His hand was still on her shoulder, and gently, his fingers began to knead the knotted muscles, relaxing her so surprisingly that her eyes fluttered shut so that she could give herself over to the sensation._

_“He’s a fool because he left,” William murmured. His voice floated softly down to her, coaxing her to believe him. “Were I in his shoes, with a woman such as yourself wanting to be a part of my life, I would find whatever means possible to overcome the obstacles that separated us. He’s a fool because he didn’t even try.”_

And here was Spike, trying beyond anything Angel had ever done. Staying even when he found out about the baby. Helping her friends, helping her, doing so much to try and make it easier for her. Not out of obligation, but because he _wanted_ to. Because he loved her.

She launched herself at him, knocking him back against the cushions as her arms wound around his neck and her mouth attacked his. He responded immediately, fingers digging into her hips, and vaguely in the background, Buffy heard Giles mutter something about Oz before rushing away, leaving them alone in the room.

“Thank you,” Buffy murmured when they finally broke apart. She smiled, sinking even further into the depth of his gaze when he responded in kind. “Though I still think you’re being an optimist about this.”

Spike shook his head. “Got my eyes wide open here,” he said softly. “And I see my beautiful, brilliant Buffy right in front of me.”

She kissed him again, unable to give voice to the tumult of emotion coursing through her. This was right. _He_ was right.

And they could overcome the obstacles together.


	27. She That Makes Me Sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXLI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Giles and Spike are reaching a temporary understanding regarding Buffy, Baltozar found Havi and discovered she rented a room elsewhere, and Buffy shared a stressful moment with Spike about how she is being forced to be tutored for psych class…

It was an unexpected turn of events, to say the least. Spike had only meant to give Buffy the words of support she needed to hear, to convince her that that bitch psych prof was wrong. He hadn’t expected this glorious display, the tangible proof of her feeling for him put before the witness of her most trusted advisor.

After he’d spoken, she’d frozen within his touch. And she’d looked into his eyes with an understanding that he hadn’t seen in over a century. She _saw_ him, and it left Spike struggling not to burst into free verse on bended knee for the acknowledgment only Buffy had ever given him. And then she was kissing him, not the gentle caress of gratitude but a true, lustful, get him hard as a rock kiss. How could he not respond?

He hated the thought of letting her go. With her supple flesh pressed against him, her body warm and oh so inviting, Spike wanted nothing more than to take the invitation Buffy was extending and make love to her right then and there, regardless of the fact that they were on her Watcher’s couch or that the Watcher in question was only in the next room. But he had to, knew she would be embarrassed by anything more, though it certainly appeared that they were well on the way to overcoming that particular peccadillo in just a short amount of time.

So when Rupert and Oz came back into the room, Spike pulled away from Buffy’s mouth, curling his hands around her hips to nestle her against his side. “Soldier Boy wake up from his nap, yet?” he asked them, relishing the soft feel of her cheek when she laid it against his chest.

“Up and out again,” Oz replied. “We had a little talk.”

Spike’s brows shot up. “Yeah?”

“Got a few things off my chest. It felt good.”

“That why he’s out for the count again?” Spike asked with a grin.

Though he shook his head, Oz sported a small smile as he did so. “It looks like it was a hangover. I don’t think he’s the kind of guy who can hold his magic.” He turned to Giles. “Speaking of magic, I’m heading out to see how Willow’s doing. We’re done here, right?”

Giles nodded. “I think we’ve got as much out of Mr. Miller as we’re going to today,” he said. “Thank you for your help.”

Oz was halfway to the door when he stopped and turned back to Spike and Buffy. “There _was_ one thing, though,” he said contemplatively. “I asked him about Riley’s involvement in all this. He said it wasn’t typical, that Riley was usually on Slayer watch.”

Spike wasn’t the only one to stiffen at the mention of the Slayer. Buffy sat up and faced Oz, while Giles peered at him in disbelief.

“Why did you mention Buffy?” Giles asked, his voice stern. “I distinctly told everyone to keep Buffy’s involvement out of this. We didn’t want her presence to be known.”

“That’s just it,” Oz said. “I didn’t. He brought her up all on his own.”

“Right,” Spike said, hopping to his feet and marching for the bathroom. “Time to have a few words with the bloke---.”

He was stopped by Giles blocking the hall. “He’s out cold,” he reminded Spike. “You’re wasting your time.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’ll just be for my own satisfaction, then.”

Buffy’s hand brushed against his arm, effectively cutting off his intent. “We’re not making this worse,” she said to him when he looked down at her. She glanced over at Oz. “What else did he say about me?”

“Nothing. That was when he passed out again.”

Giles’ frown deepened. “That must be one of the subjects that trigger the magic,” he mused. “Interesting.”

“But Buffy’s not a demon,” Spike argued. “What would that lot want with her? Doesn’t make sense.”

“Which would be why I said it was an interesting dilemma,” Giles said dryly.

“Great,” Buffy muttered. “Someone else out to make my life miserable. Just what I need right now.”

The way she pulled from him and headed for the door made Spike wonder if he was being lumped into that particular category, but the doubt was cast aside when she turned back to look at him.

“I need to get out of here,” she said. It was directed to Spike, her eyes uncharacteristically dark. “Feel like finding something to beat up?”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. With a jaunty step, Spike grabbed his coat and headed for her side. “We can pretend it’s your psych teach,” he teased.

Buffy grinned, though she quickly stifled it when Giles shot her a stern look. Grabbing Spike’s hand, she pulled him out the door with a quick goodbye to her Watcher, barely giving Spike the time to get his coat over his head. Didn’t matter. He’d go through a hell of a lot worse than a little sunburn to be at Buffy’s side. He’d go through hell itself.

* * *

They argued about Havi’s decision the entire way to the apartment.

“It’s not that I think you can’t take care of yourself,” Xander said. “It’s that I think if this guy is such bad news, you should go in with as much back-up as possible.”

“I refuse to let you get even more involved,” she said stiffly. Though she had relaxed more and more throughout the day, as soon as her search was done and she realized she would have to go back to Baltozar’s to fetch her belongings, Havi’s agitation had returned. She didn’t want to have to face Baltozar again. The confrontation would not be a pleasant one.

“Did I _say_ it would be me?” He was grinning as he said it, and though she’d learned too quickly that he used his humor to hide his true feelings, Havi could also see the genuine concern in his eyes. “Let’s go get Buffy. Nothing says back off better than having a Slayer on your side. Trust me.”

“She has no reason to help me.”

“Well, yeah, she does. You’re one of the good guys, remember?”

The other thing that had thrown Havi over and over again was Xander’s unexpected lumping of her with his friends. He had been wary of her at the Watcher’s house, and still wary when he’d first walked up to her table in front of the coffee shop, but all too soon, that wariness had vanished, to be replaced by an affability that was difficult not to warm to. She _liked_ him, which, in her experience, just didn’t happen. It was yet another reason she didn’t want him to witness a scene with Baltozar. Not only did she believe that Xander would get hurt in any fight that might ensue, a small, argumentative part of her wanted to keep each man compartmentalized from the other.

Baltozar was a part of her old life.

She wanted Xander to be a part of her new.

Clean break. That’s what she wanted now. It’s what Rose would’ve wanted for her.

Her dark eyes scanned the road as Xander turned the last corner toward the apartment. There was no sign of Baltozar’s car; now was going to be the best time for her to do this. His absence meant no confrontation. It would make this infinitely easier.

“He’s not here,” Havi said as Xander coasted to a stop at the curb. She turned to face him and was mildly surprised at the certainty of his gaze. Behind the joviality was a young man who’d learned how to take strength from adversity; it was understandable that the Slayer would count him among her friends. “There’s no reason for you to be concerned.”

Xander’s eyes jumped from her to the building behind her. “I still don’t like it,” he said.

“I’m not asking you to like it. I’m asking you to stay here.”

He nodded, albeit reluctantly. “I’ll give you ten minutes,” he said. “Any longer and I’m coming in, got it?”

“I suppose it’s a good thing I don’t have many belongings, then,” she said with a small smile.

“You’re the first girl I’ve ever met who’s said that. Knew you were one of a kind.”

Turning away from the appraising grin he shot her, Havi hid her flush from him as she climbed out of the car, not even looking back as she walked quickly up the path. There had been a few comments that day that made her suspect his interest in her was more than just a polite concern. It was nothing she could put a finger on, though. She had never been frightfully good at reading the opposite sex.

The apartment was dark when she pushed open the front door, and she stepped inside with a relieved sigh. This would be quick, without conflict. She would grab her things and leave. Maybe write Baltozar a note.

She froze when the bedroom door opened and his dark shadow unexpectedly emerged. He didn’t approach. He merely leaned against the jamb, blocking the way to her clothes, watching her with hooded eyes.

“I’d ask where you’ve been, but that never seems to turn out too good for me,” Baltozar said.

His tone was almost too casual, and goosebumps erupted along Havi’s arms. Restraint was not one of Baltozar’s stronger suits; the fact that he was being so calm could not bode well for her.

“I didn’t think you were home,” she said carefully. “The car’s not out front.”

“Is that your way of telling me you wouldn’t have come in if you _had_ thought I was here?”

She frowned. His cagy question implied he knew more than he was telling, but what it could be, she had no idea. “What have you been doing all day?” It was a safer query for her, and she walked to the kitchen presumably to get a drink. She had to draw him away from the bedroom; all her weapons were in there.

“Looking for you,” came the blunt reply. “You didn’t come home last night.”

Guilt stabbed through her at the use of his word “home.” “You were drunk. You weren’t rational.”

“I thought you’d been hurt.” She felt him approach her at the sink, but he still kept himself between her and the bedroom door. “But you’re not, are you?”

Havi flinched when his fingers began stroking her right bicep, unexpectedly gentle. Thank god standing behind her meant he couldn’t see her face. “The fact that you don’t trust me hurt,” she admitted.

“I don’t trust anyone,” Baltozar said softly. “You know that.”

Her resolve was wavering. His proximity, this tender side that he so rarely displayed…it always undid her. It was so easy to forget how violent he’d been the night before, how violent he _could_ be. Though he had yet to say…

“You know I’m sorry, right?” Baltozar murmured into her ear. His breath was warm against her neck. “It’s just that I love you so damn much. You make me crazy sometimes.”

The sigh escaped her. “That’s not an excuse.”

But part of her didn’t really mean it.

Slowly, Baltozar reached to wrap his fingers around hers where they held the glass, guiding it down to the sink and forcing her to set it down. He turned her around so that she faced him, keeping her ass pressed to the edge of the counter. “It’s all I’ve got,” he said. “Isn’t it enough?”

* * *

Xander didn’t wait well. He got bored. Fidgety. More than one teacher had commented on it throughout his scholastic career. More than one pencil had gotten stuck in an acoustic ceiling tile because of it. Nobody had been able to fix it, though. He just didn’t like to sit still for that long without _doing_ something.

However, sitting was his only current option. The ten minutes he’d given Havi were now stretching into fifteen, and while he’d only been kidding about going in after her if she took longer, Xander was starting to seriously wonder if something might be wrong. A light had come on in the apartment she’d entered, but the road remained silent, devoid of life and disturbance.

He wanted to trust her. It had been a surprisingly good day until they’d started heading back to her old place. Havi had even been smiling at most of his jokes by the time they walked out of the Sunnydale Arms. Xander was beginning to feel less like an imposer and more of a real friend at that point.

OK, a friend who wanted to have hot and crazy monkey sex with her, but for Xander, that really wasn’t all that unusual for how his friendships with girls started. He was sure he’d get over it in time.

Hopefully.

For now, though, he wasn’t sure what to think. He just knew he couldn’t sit behind his steering wheel, listening to the local radio station run their eighties night. If anything was guaranteed to drive him around the bend, it was Cyndi Lauper on repeat.

He grabbed the crossbow out of his back seat without thinking. It didn’t get used that often, and there was a Milky Way wrapper stuck on the end of one of the arrows, but it was the one weapon he knew he could count on for just about anything. Stakes were definitely more portable, but they only worked on vamps. The crossbow let him take a shot before whatever he faced decided he was a nummy treat.

And the bigger and harder to miss it was, the better.

He approached the apartment quietly, stepping from the path to peer through the open curtain. He spotted Havi right away, but it was the other person in the room that made him tighten his grip on the weapon.

She’d only talked about what had happened briefly, when Xander screwed up his nerve to ask about the bruises. He knew the guy’s name---Baltozar---and he knew they’d come to Sunnydale together. But hearing those sparse details and seeing the man who was now pinning Havi to the kitchen counter were two entirely different matters.

For one thing, he was bigger than Xander had imagined. An easy six-three and two hundred pounds, he sported muscles that would’ve made Arnie jealous. Not the early, too big to be real Arnie, but the more compactly muscled Arnie from his comedy phase. It was Kindergarten Cop meets Vincent Vega.

Tattoos adorned his bare arms, and the fact that one was a sword dripping with blood came as no surprise to Xander. Neither did the fact that his hair was longer than Havi’s. His dark hair was long and shaggy, slicked back away from his face to expose the thick sideburns that ran down to his jaw. It also revealed him talking to Havi, though Xander couldn’t hear a word of it.

He could, however, see Havi’s face. And he could see the way Baltozar’s hands kept running over her body, possessive and knowing.

And Xander saw red.

* * *

She knew what he was saying was wrong. She knew the way he was touching her was wrong. It had been less than twenty-four hours earlier that he’d attacked her in the very next room, but still, Havi was transfixed by what he professed, by the solicitude in his embrace.

“We didn’t come all this way to lose each other,” Baltozar was whispering. “Say the word, and we’ll leave. Get out of here. We don’t need the Hellmouth, Havi. I don’t need anything. Just you.”

“Don’t,” she said, but there was no conviction in her voice.

“You don’t mean that.”

“I think the lady does.”

She hadn’t even heard the door open, and her head jerked toward it, stiffening when she saw Xander there with a drawn crossbow. Something in Baltozar shifted, hardened even before he glanced back, and she saw a crack form in the gentle mask he’d been wearing.

“I was wondering if you were going to show up,” he said.

It was his choice of words rather than his tone that snapped her out of the fugue he’d made in her head. “What’re you talking about?” Havi demanded. She braced her hands against his chest and pushed, taking him by surprise.

Baltozar stumbled back, his eyes jumping between the two. When he took a step closer to Havi, Xander lifted the crossbow a little higher.

“I think even I’d have a problem missing from this close,” Xander said. “Leave her alone.” His gaze flickered to Havi. “You OK? He didn’t hurt you again, did he?”

She shook her head, inching along the counter toward the bedroom. “I’m sorry,” she said, but she wasn’t entirely sure to which man she was apologizing.

“Is this the way it ends, then?” Baltozar snarled. “He’s a fucking kid, Havi! Don’t tell me you’re leaving me for a fucking _kid_. You’ll chew him up and be starving for more before breakfast, mark my word.”

“Nobody’s chewing anything,” Xander said. “I’m her friend. I’m just trying to help here.”

Baltozar’s eyes flickered over him with disdain. “Do you _really_ think I’m that stupid? Look her in the eye and tell her you haven’t thought about fucking her into next Tuesday. Go on. Do it.”

Though it wasn’t entirely a surprise when Xander blushed, Havi still took a step away, from both of them at that point. But Baltozar wasn’t finished.

“That’s right.” His voice was lower, more seductive, power glittering in his eyes. “You can’t. Hasn’t stopped you thinking about it, though, has it? Wondering how tight she is? What if I told you she gives the most amazing head? My girl could suck you dry if she wanted to. Can’t think herself out of an open box, but she’s got the hottest little mouth I’ve ever---.”

“Stop it!” Her foot lashed out at the same time, slamming into the back of his knee and sending Baltozar crumpling to the floor. Shame coursed through her for having almost succumbed to his words again, and she whirled toward the bedroom, blinded by her tears.

“Don’t even think about getting up,” she heard Xander threaten. “No, wait a minute. On second thought, go ahead. I’m dying for a reason to shoot you.”

Grabbing her duffle from the closet, Havi didn’t even bother getting her clothes before returning to the outer room. Those were replaceable; other things were not.

“Let’s go,” she said, not stopping or looking up as she rushed past Xander to the open door.

“Havi…”

The pleading tone of Baltozar’s voice made her falter, but she held her ground, refusing to even glance back. She couldn’t. If she saw him, Havi wasn’t sure she wouldn’t end up falling prey to the doubt again.

She’d made her choice. She just had to stick with it this time.

* * *

Xander didn’t stick around. With Havi no longer in the apartment, his bravado vanished with her, and he scuttled back toward the door as quickly as he could without losing his aim on Baltozar. Then, it was out into the encroaching darkness and a dead run to his car. He’d never been so glad to see the old girl in his whole life.

They didn’t say a word until he’d pulled away, and then Xander only risked a quick glance at the woman at his side. “You did the right thing,” he said. “I know you were thinking about staying, but trust me. You did the right thing.”

Her head was turned away from him, but he saw the reflection of her tears in the window. “This is my life,” she said quietly. There was no trace of her crying in her voice. It was almost as if she was trying to convince herself of her own words. “I do the right thing. Even when I think it is wrong.”

“It doesn’t have to be so bad. And look at the fresh start you’ve got. New friends, new apartment---.”

Her head whipped around. “I can’t take the apartment, Xander,” Havi said. “Baltozar knows. He has to. He had to have seen us together when he was looking for me today. That’s how he recognized you.”

He hadn’t thought of that. He’d just been concentrating on not letting the bastard lay another hand on Havi.

“But you can’t go back _there_ ,” he said, jerking his head toward the dark street behind them.

She deflated before his eyes. “I know.”

They drove in silence, aimed mindlessly through the Sunnydale streets. He didn’t know where he was going, and she wasn’t volunteering any more suggestions, the two of them floating together on a river of indecision. He knew how tough it was for her to just walk out; he’d been witness to that kind of destructive relationship his entire life. But he didn’t know how else to convince her of the power of what she’d done.

They were stopped at the light near the movie theater when he got the idea. When it turned green, Xander braved the honks of the cars behind him to cut across two lanes, making the left to go around the block. Havi turned to him with a frown darkening her face.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I want to make a phone call.” He pulled up to the curb, fishing around for the change in the ashtray he used for a coin catcher. “You don’t want to spend the night in front of the Espresso Pump again, do you?”

Hesitantly, she shook her head.

“I didn’t think so.” Leaving the engine running, Xander slid out of the car and had taken two steps toward the phone when she called out to him.

“Yeah?” he said, ducking his head back into the window.

Her eyes were luminous as she looked at him, and he saw her throat work as she tried to find the right words. “Thank you,” Havi finally said, and nodded, an odd gesture that would’ve looked wrong on anybody else in Sunnydale. On her, though, it was just…right.

Xander smiled. “You’re welcome.” In that moment, all the fear that had been burning the back of his throat at what exactly he’d done---standing up to bullies had never been his strong suit---dissipated in a wash of soothing heat. “I’ll be right back.”

* * *

It was Wesley’s threat to send her back to England that finally made Esme speak.

“I wanted to know how the original spell was cast,” she admitted. “I thought I’d have a clue from her blood.”

His lips thinned, and his eyes narrowed behind his spectacles. “That isn’t of your concern,” he said. “If it was, you would’ve been informed of that back in England.”

She disagreed with him, but held her tongue, waiting to see how he would act now that she’d complied with his order to explain herself. She couldn’t return to England now. She’d only just deciphered how to get her magic back, once and for all.

“Rupert is of the mind to discontinue your sessions with Willow,” Wesley said

“But you’re not?”

“On the contrary, I think it’s an excellent idea. And I’m sure Mr. Travers would agree that your behavior thus far has been less than exemplary.”

There was a but coming. It took everything in Esme not to smile as she waited for it.

“However…” Ah, Watcher-speak for but. Just as effective. “…we agreed to defer the decision to Willow. And…she wishes to continue.”

This time, she did smile, though it was just a little one. “Willow is a smart girl,” Esme said. “She understands that I’m the only one who can help her.”

“Actually, she told Rupert she’s no longer afraid that she won’t be able to defend herself against you,” Wesley countered. “She believes that the incident last night was all the proof she needed.”

It rankled, but Esme nodded in agreement anyway. It wouldn’t do to ruffle feathers at this point by arguing what would soon be a moot point. She waited until he left her alone again before wiping the deferential smile from her face, picking up the phone and dialing the number she’d already committed to memory.

He picked it up on the first ring. “Havi?”

Esme frowned at the weakness in Baltozar’s voice. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.

A heavy sigh. The sound of glass clinking. Liquid sloshing as he poured something. “Havi left me.”

“What? Why?”

“Because we had a fucking fight, that’s why!” The pain in his voice was raw, and she listened to him try to soothe it with the liquor she knew he was consuming. “What do you want?”

“I have a job for you.”

“Fuck off. I’m done with this. I’m out of here in the morning.”

Panic threatened to make her overreact. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Esme scolded, keeping her tone firm. “You’ve come too far to give up now.”

“There’s no point in doing any of this without Havi,” Baltozar retorted. “So, you just take your magic, and your mythical Slayer artifacts, and shove ‘em up your---.”

“I can give her back to you.”

His sharp intake of breath cut through the phone line, spurring Esme to continue before she lost him again.

“Do this thing for me, and I’ll have my magic back. I can make it that Havi never leaves you again, Baltozar. All it takes is this one thing.”

She waited for him to digest her words, watching the red display on the clock switch over.

“What is it?” he finally said.

Esme smiled. “Nothing you haven’t done before,” she said. “One little kill. A girl. She’ll never see it coming.”


	28. Tomb'd with Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet IV.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Xander’s managed to help Havi get away from Baltozar, Esme has asked Baltozar to do a job, and Buffy has pulled Spike out to relieve some stress after being forced to start tutoring with Robin…

The night began with a promising start. When Buffy asked Spike to drive her to the nearest cemetery so that she could start patrolling early, he didn’t balk, taking her directly there and even offering her one of the few weapons he had tossed in the back seat. He went a little funny when she asked why he wasn’t storing them in the trunk, but then they were there, and he was kicking her out of the car, saying that he would catch up with her as soon as the sun had finished setting. He even gave her a quick kiss that left her humming, both literally and figuratively, as she hopped over the graveyard’s wall. 

She saw the trio of vampires coming out of the crypt just as the sun dipped below the horizon. The blonde was obviously the leader, sniping at the two young male vamps---who looked way too much like Laurel and Hardy if they’d been stoners in college---emerging behind her. While Buffy couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, it was impossible not to miss the kick in the stomach the girl vamp leveled into the gut of the heavyset one, or the elbow she jammed into Laurel’s throat when he began sniggering at his buddy’s pain. She had “bitch” written all over her. It was exactly what Buffy decided she needed to work out some of her frustrations.

That is, until the blonde vampire noticed Buffy approaching. And proceeded to open her mouth to speak.

Her heavily made-up eyes swept over Buffy in disdain. “Thank god for the freshman fifteen,” she complained. “I’m starving.”

Maybe it was the complete boredom with the situation that threw Buffy, or maybe it was her raging insecurity about everything at the moment. Either way, Buffy stopped in her tracks, frowning as she looked down at her stomach and chest.

“What’re you talking about? I’m not fa---.”

Fingers tipped in crimson and black darted out and wrapped around Buffy’s wrist, twisting her arm out and away with an audible crack. The cry that escaped Buffy’s throat was more from surprise than pain, and she deftly wrenched away from the vampire’s hold, bending at the waist to duck the next blow swung in her direction.

“Well, now, that’s just rude,” the female vamp complained, picking herself up from the grass. “After what I’ve had to put up with today, the least you could do is die like a good little dinner.”

“Oh, don’t get me started on bad days,” Buffy countered. She tucked her hurt wrist into her side. She had a strong suspicion it was sprained if not broken, but she couldn’t let on to the weakness in front of an adversary.

“Were _you_ locked in a crypt with Tweedledum and Tweedledee all day?”

“No, mine was more along the lines of the bitch professor from hell.”

“Oh, please,” the vampire scoffed. “You’re in college _and_ you’re on the Hellmouth? What else did you expect?”

“Maybe a little consideration,” Buffy bristled. Her irritation about her encounter with Dr. Walsh was returning. “It’s only the second week. She hasn’t even given me a chance yet.”

The female vamp pretended to pout. “Is it just too hard? Does it make you want to cry?”

Before Buffy could protest the mocking, Hardy decided to reassert his presence and tackled her from behind. They landed on the ground with a deep thud, the air knocked solidly from her lungs and her hurt wrist trapped painfully against her stomach. Normally, it wouldn’t have been difficult for Buffy to recover. But, her injury combined with the fact that the vampire was probably three times her weight, slowed her responses, giving him the opportunity to drool against her neck.

A roar came from nowhere, and both Buffy and the vamp twisted their heads in time to see a dark figure vault toward the group, an eclipse against the blackened sky. He landed directly beside them and grabbed Hardy as if he was tissue, tossing him aside and relieving the weight off Buffy’s back.

She rolled her eyes. Though part of her was glad to see Spike, another part was just a little annoyed at the grandstanding entrance. No wonder he loved wearing that stupid coat so much. With it on, he looked like some kind of superhero swooping in to save the day. The girls probably fell for that one, hook, line, and fang.

“Excuse me!” the female vampire shouted. “We’re in the middle of dinner here!” She grabbed Buffy by one arm but was stopped from pulling her away when Spike grabbed the other.

“This one’s mine,” he said casually. “So let’s say you just toddle off and find your own Slayer, OK?”

Her eyes widened at hearing Buffy’s title. “Really?” she said with a wide grin, and then her nose wrinkled. “She’s not very good, is she?”

“I’ll show you good---,” she started to say, but was cut off by the tightening of Spike’s grip around her injured wrist. It didn’t hurt, but when she glanced back at him, she couldn’t miss the warning he shot her before turning his gaze back to the blonde.

“You know who I am, pet?” he asked.

She seemed to take his question seriously, frowning as she scrutinized him up and down. It was Laurel, standing behind them, that broke the silence.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed. His golden eyes glowed as he came around to Spike’s side. When he leaned in to examine him more closely, Spike countered by leaning back. “It’s William the Bloody, dude! Right on!”

“Get outta here!” Her attention in Buffy vanished, all bright eyes and delighted smiles now trained on Spike. “I didn’t know you were back in town!”

“Yeah, just got in a few days ago.”

“Where’s Drusilla?”

For a moment, Buffy thought Spike was going to lose it. His jaw tightened, but then almost immediately relaxed as he shrugged. “Got bored with her,” he said nonchalantly. “The crazy thing’s only fun for so long, you know? Thought I’d see what the grass was like on this side of the fence for a change.” His eyes slid seductively over the female vamp, so blatant that Buffy felt like gagging. “Maybe try a blonde this time.”

If it wasn’t for Spike’s firm grip, Buffy would’ve stumbled for as fast as the bitch vampire let her go. Sidling to Spike’s side, the vamp pressed into his lean body, running her taloned fingernails down his chest. “My name’s Sunday,” she said, licking her lips. “If you want to share this one, I’d be willing to…talk it over.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped when Spike let her arm go and said, “Now, that sounds more than a mite appealing.”

Together, the two vamps strolled a few feet away, and Buffy could only watch as their heads bowed together conspiratorially.

“Hey!” she shouted when she realized she couldn’t hear what they were saying. “Are we going to fight or what?”

“Save your breath.” That was Hardy, come up on Buffy’s left side. “If he’s bothering to give her the time of day, we’re going to be here all night.”

“Yeah,” Laurel agreed from her side. “Sunday’s got _serious_ hero issues.”

She glanced at the two vampires who were flanking her. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No way,” Laurel said. “I mean, dude! Every time some new badass decides to take over the world, Sunday’s right there, offering to give him head.”

“And none for us,” Hardy groused.

Buffy grimaced. Her wrist was starting to throb, she was stuck listening to these two, and now her boyfriend was flirting with some skanky vampire ho who just wanted to get into his pants. This was so not how she’d wanted this night to go.

As she watched, Sunday laughed, her fingers running over Spike’s leather with come hither written all over them. The rumble of Spike’s voice was followed by him slipping the coat from his shoulders, and when he held it out for her to try on, Buffy’s jaw dropped. What in hell did he think he was doing? She didn’t _really_ think he was being serious about this Sunday, but…was he?

Anger mixed with the bile of betrayal. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen for his act. But…he’d said all the right things, been so sweet and so supportive, how could she not? But no. He’d gone from one vampire ho to another vampire ho. All Buffy had done was change his taste in hair color.

She was about to charge forward and stake him herself when Sunday turned her back to them, ready to take his offering of the coat. Before Buffy could react, Spike dropped the leather to the ground, unmasking the stake he must’ve palmed from his pocket. A split second later, the stake was buried in Sunday’s back, her dust already clogging the cooling night air.

Buffy didn’t waste time listening to the surprised gurgles from the duo at her sides. Sweeping her leg, she sent Laurel sprawling to the grass, then grabbed her stake from her waistband to finish the circle by driving it deep into Hardy’s chest. She didn’t wait for his dust to settle before turning back to the downed vampire, finishing him off before he could even rise from where he’d fallen.

“Not exactly what I had in mind,” Spike said, his duster dangling from his fingers as he sauntered back to Buffy’s side. A pleased grin split his features. “But not a bad way to start the---ow!”

He howled in pain when Buffy’s good fist shot forward and slammed into his nose, forcing him to drop his coat to the ground as his hands came up to his face. He glared at her in disbelief. “What in bloody hell did you do that for?”

“I can’t believe I fell for it!”

“Fell for what?”

“You! Do you really think I’m that stupid? You couldn’t at least have tried making time with her when I wasn’t around?”

Spike’s hands fell from his face. The blow had been mostly reflexive, not even at full strength, but it had served its purpose to infuriate him. “That’s not---. I was savin’ your ass!”

“My ass was just fine!”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause you always do your best slaying with a broken arm and a two-ton gorilla on your back.”

She lifted her chin defiantly. “As a matter of fact, I do. You should’ve seen me when that demon zoo came to town.”

Spike snorted, shaking his head. “Give me your arm.”

“No.” She deliberately tucked it into her body, taking a step away when he frowned at her.

“You’re hurt,” he said. “I just want to see how bad it is.”

“Please. You lost one blonde to feel up, and now you’re just going back to your old Slayer standby. That’s not going to happen this time, Spike.”

“Are you actually _listening_ to what you’re sayin’, luv?”

“Stop calling me ‘luv.’ You don’t get to do that, not when you act like this.”

Shaking his head, Spike stooped to pick up his coat. “You’ve gone completely starkers, you know that, don’t you?”

“What? _You’re_ the one who was all, ‘Oh, look at my manly muscles! Aren’t I the sexiest vamp you’ve ever seen?’ You even took off your coat to show the bimbo! It looks to me like I’m the one of the two of us who still has all her clothes on.”

“That’s not what starkers means, you dozy bint.” He pulled his leather back on. “Now, stop bein’ a baby and give me your arm.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

“It will be.”

“Buffy…”

“Why do you even care?” she snapped.

His eyes glittered. “That’s a bloody daft question and you know it.”

“I know that two minutes ago you were more interested in being treated like Elvis than trying to help me dust those jokers.”

“I was _interested_ in you not gettin’ hurt any more than you already were.”

“By macking on the ho right in front of me? Yeah, because that doesn’t hurt at all.”

His head tilted as he contemplated her words. “You’re not jealous, are you, pet?”

“What? No! Don’t be ridiculous!”

There was a softening around his eyes as he watched her through sooty lashes, and Spike took a step forward. “’Cause you know there’s no reason for you to be.”

“Do I?”

“Do I have to write you a letter to prove it to you?”

His accent was smoothing, his tone gentling, and the reminder of the box full of his devoted words only served to exacerbate the guilty pangs that stabbed in her gut. She was starting to feel foolish, but clung stubbornly to her frustration, even as she watched him continue to approach.

“You goin’ to let me look at that arm yet?”

God, didn’t he know they were in the middle of a fight here? Why was he changing the subject on her?

“I said---.”

“Know what you said.” Then, he was in the space before her, and Buffy realized she hadn’t made another move away since he’d started advancing. Strong fingers curled around hers, prying her good hand off her hurt arm. “Also know what my nose tells me.”

She involuntarily winced as he began exploring the injured tissue. “I’m not that dumb, you know. I know you can’t smell a broken bone.”

His fingers massaged at the sore muscles, temperate and probing in defiance of their moods. “Didn’t say I could. Smelled your fear.”

Her head jerked up to stare at him, but Spike’s gaze was still lowered, concentrated on examining her arm. “I wasn’t afraid,” she argued.

“Not even for a moment?” His voice was coaxing, persuasive. “Not even in that split second before I showed up when that prat was slobbering all over your neck?”

She held her tongue. So, maybe he had a point---a small one. There _had_ been that moment, but it had lasted for only a fraction of a second, not even long enough for Buffy to feel its full effects or register that it had happened until analysis after the fact.

“You goin’ to tell me how she got her hit in?” he asked.

Buffy answered him with great reluctance. “She said I was fat.”

His hands stopped their massage, his eyes looking to hers in disbelief. “And…?” he asked.

She flushed and pulled her arm away. “And…she said I was fat.”

“ _That’s_ what all this is about?” Incredulity was starting to seep into a broad smile, one that Buffy couldn’t help but itch to slap off his face. “You birds start throwing potshots at each other about your weight, and _that’s_ how we get to this place?”

“It’s not like that. I thought…she said it, and my first thought was…” She exhaled loudly, shaking her head. “Never mind.”

He stopped her from marching past him by grabbing her shoulder and whirling her around. “Just bloody spit it out. It’s me, remember? There’s not anything you can say that’s goin’ to make me love you any less. Might piss me off for a minute, but you know that I can’t stay mad at you, even when I want to.” He paused, blue eyes liquid as he tilted his head. “It’s _me_ , luv,” he repeated. “No reason for you to be holding back now.”

Buffy cradled her injured arm close to her body. “I thought she was talking about the baby,” she admitted. “When she said it, the first thing that went through my head was that I must’ve been showing and all you guys were just being nice and telling me I wasn’t. And it…threw me off.”

“Oh, Buffy…”

She skittered away from his consoling touch. “You don’t get how hard this is for me,” she continued. “All of this. I’ve only known about the baby for six days now, Spike. And then with everything else…what was I supposed to think when you didn’t stake her right away? So, OK, maybe I don’t always go for the wood before the quippage, but at least I’m not _flirting_ with what I’m trying to slay. I thought…and then you…” Taking a deep breath, she calmed the runaway nerves that suddenly seemed beyond her control. “I’m not perfect, Spike. I’m not even close. I get knocked for a loop now and then, but I’m trying the best I know how. It’s just…it’s just…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. Strong arms pulled her into a close embrace, and she felt the hard muscle of his chest against her cheek as he began stroking her back. “You have any idea what was goin’ through my head when I saw you pinned beneath that pillock?” he said. “My world stopped. Got it fixed that, yeah, life for a Slayer on a Hellmouth isn’t all peaches and cream, but knowin’ it and acceptin’ it when it’s staring back at me are two entirely separate things.”

He smelled so good, and the circle of his arms had never felt so welcoming. It was getting harder to remember why she’d been annoyed with him in the first place. “Do you always try to Casanova your way into a kill?” she asked quietly.

“That wasn’t what that was about. She was the one with the power there, pet, and you weren’t exactly up to scratch. I just wanted to get her away from the other two so you didn’t have to worry about her in the scrap.”

“And get your ego stroked at the same time.”

“You’d rather she was stroking something else?”

Buffy laughed, in spite of everything. “I guess we both have our issues to work through, huh?”

“That, we do.” Gently, he pushed her away, holding her at arms’ length. “You goin’ to let me tend to that wrist now?” Spike asked. “’Cause I’m callin’ it a night for you, whether you like it or not.”

She nodded, and then bit her lip. “Can we…?” she started to ask. Except, she felt silly for wanting it, and clamped her mouth shut as she flushed in embarrassment.

“Can we what?” he prompted.

Ducking her head, she almost whispered the words. “I want to go see my mom.”

She glanced up in time to see the corner of his mouth lift. “Think that might be just what the doctor ordered,” he said, looping his arm around her waist. They’d only gone a few feet back toward the cemetery entrance when he added, “Does she keep that hot chocolate on hand all the time or just for special occasions?”

* * *

When she caught Xander looking back at her from the doorstep, Havi averted her eyes, focusing on the neighborhood to which he’d brought her instead of the curious question about why he was doing it in the first place. The street looked like something out of all the American movies she’d seen in her lifetime, typical suburbia with lumbering trees shading the street and abandoned bicycles forgotten in front lawns. It was a lie, she knew. These were people accustomed to evil living amongst them, but like so many others around the world, they chose to cling to their innocent beliefs. Demons were myth to them. It was easier to blame the other causes---the gangs, the drugs, the addiction to television---for so many deaths. Havi wasn’t certain yet if it was better to know of the shadows that lurked just outside the door, or to choose to be blind to them, following a strictly guided path through existence. Only time would tell.

The front door of the house opened, and Havi watched as Xander began speaking to the woman who answered. She was older than both of them, probably in her late thirties, attractive and smiling at Xander with the ease of familiarity. When he gestured back toward the car, Havi had to stifle the urge to shrink into her seat. She did not like charity, and she liked even less being thought of as pitiable. She wished he’d allowed her to join him as he made his plea.

She pretended to be playing with the radio when he tapped on her window.

“Everything’s cool,” Xander said with a wide smile. “Mrs. Summers said you can stay for as long as you need to.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Enough.” With a sigh, he folded his forearms so that he could lean against the door, bending so that he could lower his voice. “It’s not just that she’s Buffy mom. Mrs. Summers…well, she’s been through a lot. It’s not that I think she understands completely what you’re going through, but let’s just say, when it comes to men, she’s had her share of jerks.”

Havi nodded in understanding. She now knew why he’d chosen this particular avenue to help her. From what she’d gathered from the few caustic gibes he’d made about his own family, this was likely one of the safest havens he knew.

Though she held her head high as they walked up to the porch, she hung back behind Xander as he made the introductions. It wasn’t until Mrs. Summers smiled into her eyes, stepping aside to allow them to enter, that Havi felt the first stirrings of peace begin to return.

“Thank you,” she said when Mrs. Summers closed the door behind them. Her fingers gripped the strap of her pack tightly. “I don’t wish to be a bother.”

“Nonsense.” Another warm smile. It was disconcerting to be greeted so affectionately by a stranger. “Xander knows where the spare bedroom is, so why don’t you go make yourself comfortable. Are you hungry, or thirsty, or anything?”

They had yet to eat dinner, but she wasn’t about to admit to her hunger. “I’m fine,” Havi tried to say.

“I’m not,” Xander announced loudly. “Could we order a pizza or something, Mrs. Summers?” He rubbed his stomach. “Growing boy, you know.”

Mrs. Summers laughed. “I think that could be arranged.”

They were silent as they climbed the stairs, and Havi waited for Xander to open the correct door on the upper landing before brushing past to drop her bag. The room was bright and sunny, much like how she imagined the rest of the Summers’ household to be, and for a moment, she felt a pang of sadness at how out of place she felt in those surroundings.

Xander misinterpreted the melancholy in her eyes for something else. “Don’t worry,” he said, shutting the door so that they could speak in privacy. “Your boyfriend didn’t follow us. I kept an eye out just to make sure. You’re safe here.”

“I…thank you.” She didn’t know what else to say. She just wasn’t used to this level of accommodation.

He was shuffling in place, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his baggy trousers. “You don’t mind that I’m sticking around, do you?” he asked. “I’d just feel better knowing you got to sleep tonight without having another encounter of the macho kind.”

“Why?” She blurted the question without thinking, and then colored as she turned away. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to---.”

“No, it’s OK. Why what?”

But she couldn’t ask. She’d floundered enough for the day and she was weary of getting answers that seemed to satisfy him but left her confused. Instead, she asked, “Will you have problems when I don’t fulfill my lease application?”

Xander made a “psh” sound in denial. “The way people come and go from this town, nobody will think twice about it. And if something does get said, I’ll just mow her lawn a few extra times to make up for it. Not a big deal.”

“It is.” She swallowed, taking a step closer to him. What she wanted was to clear the slate. Though she suspected he wanted nothing in return, her feeling of indebtedness was growing beyond comfort levels and she had to do something about it, whether he would ask or not. He wouldn’t take money; she’d already tried that earlier in the day. That left only one thing of value Havi thought she could offer him.

His dark eyes flickered over her as she approached, his tongue darting out to nervously lick his lips. “Nah, it’s not, really. A little grass, a little chop chop, and---holy mother of pearl!”

Xander’s sharp gasp was followed almost immediately by him falling backwards, trying to get away from where she’d settled her hands at his waistband. Havi frowned, starting to kneel at his side so that she could continue, only to freeze when he crab-walked backward to put more distance between them.

“What’re you doing?” he squeaked.

“Saying thank you for helping me.”

“With your _hands_?”

This wasn’t the response she’d been expecting. “I thought…when Baltozar asked you, you didn’t deny being attracted to me. And just now, I felt---.”

“That’s OK. I know what you felt. I’m intimately acquainted with it, trust me.” His color was deep, his breathing suddenly erratic. “What I don’t know is _why_.”

“Because you helped me.” She didn’t understand what was so hard for him to grasp. He was aroused, and she wanted to pay him back for his aid that day. It seemed simple to her. “I wanted to show you how grateful I am.”

There was a long moment of silence, and then Xander sat back onto the floor, leaning up against the wall. “Havi,” he started, and his voice was deeper, more modulated as his breathing returned to normal. “Look, I’m not going to pretend to understand how things worked between you and---.” He broke off, seemingly unwilling to voice Baltozar’s name in front of her, and took a deep breath before trying again.

“You don’t have to do that,” he said.

“But I owe you.”

“Then, buy me a donut or something, but really, as hard as it for me to believe I’m saying this, anything that involves touching body parts is completely unnecessary.”

She just stared at him, bewildered by this change of events. She’d been so sure. The only reason he could be turning her down had to be because she’d been mistaken, in which case…

Shame coursed through her veins, and Havi ducked her eyes as she retreated back toward the bed. “My apologies,” she mumbled. “I thought…after everything, it seemed that you…I’m sorry.”

She flinched when she felt his hand on her shoulder, and he immediately pulled it away again. “Stop it,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for, and if you do it again, I’ll tell Mrs. Summers to eighty-six the hot chocolate.”

What was there for her to do at that but nod?

“It’s not…” He was still talking. “…look, that boyfriend of yours said a lot of things, and, maybe, not all of them were completely off-base. But that doesn’t mean I expect anything to happen. It just means that I’m a nineteen year-old male with fully functioning parts that happen to have a mind of their own in the presence of the opposite sex. Especially if that particular member of the opposite sex looks like you.”

Nineteen. She’d forgotten he was younger than she was. Sometimes, he seemed to have the history of the whole world in his eyes. It was easy to forget four years when she saw the glimpses of it.

_And why was he still continuing to speak?_

“…not why I did all of that. I just want to make that clear. I don’t want you thinking---.”

She shut him up the only way she could think of at the moment.

He actually continued talking for a few moments after she pressed her mouth to his. Then, he just stopped. The kiss itself wasn’t a passionate one. Chaste. Nothing parted, nothing was exchanged. But…Xander didn’t move away, probably more from shock that she was kissing him than anything else, she realized. And there was a slight sugary sweetness to the taste of his mouth that made Havi glad she’d chosen to silence him this way instead of doing something else.

His eyes were wide open when she pulled back.

“Thank you for being my friend, Xander Harris,” she said solemnly. “It…it has been a long time since I could call someone that and…mean it.”

The sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs saved her the uncomfortable conversation she was sure to follow, and Havi stepped past him to open the bedroom door again. “We should eat before it cools,” she said. She tilted her head and braved her first smile since arriving at the Summers home. “Come. You can show me that trick with the pizza you were telling me about at lunch time.”

Without waiting for a reply, she left the room, content that she’d done what she could to salvage the situation. She still didn’t understand Xander’s behavior, but she wasn’t going to bother questioning it any longer. Answers enough would come in time.

She was halfway down the stairs before she looked up and realized it wasn’t a pizza delivery person standing inside the door, now staring up at her in confusion.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” Buffy demanded.


	29. Blunting the Fine Point

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy got hurt on patrol and asked to be taken to her mother’s, while Xander has taken Havi to stay at the Summers’ house…

Given the choice, Xander would’ve preferred just a few more minutes to try and come to grips with what exactly had just happened between him and Havi. She hadn’t made any sort of overture all day, and then, to have her practically throwing herself at him? It didn’t make sense. Well, it did make sense, kind of like how he could hear his parents doing the unspeakable in their bedroom sometimes after they’d had a big fight. His dad was always just a little bit easier to get along with the days after that happened. If that was the kind of relationship Havi had had with Tattoo Boy, then Xander was even more glad than he had been that she was now out of it.

The other part that surprised the hell out of him was that he’d turned her down. Xander Harris, saying no to a hot girl offering him sex with no strings attached? That apocalypse he’d thought was coming when he’d first sat down with her at the Espresso Pump seemed even more imminent now.

It was Buffy’s voice that drew him from the bedroom. Ignoring the fact that his cock was still rock-hard, and that he could still taste Havi on his lips, Xander hurried from the room to see Havi poised in the middle of the stairwell, gazing down at a furious Buffy at the bottom. He skidded to a halt when Buffy’s eyes jumped to him, widening slightly in surprise to see him standing there, too.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

Behind her, Spike smirked. “Looks like the boy decided to take Summers hospitality just a small step further,” he said.

Xander’s cheeks flamed, memory of what had just happened in the spare bedroom burning bright, but he was saved from answering when Joyce emerged from the dining room.

“What’s with all the shouting?” she asked in mild annoyance. She took a sharp intake of breath, closing the gap between her and Buffy to take her daughter’s elbow in a light grasp. “What happened?”

For the first time, Xander noticed the awkward angle at which Buffy was holding her arm, and the bruises that mottled her tanned skin. “If Spike---,” he started.

“Vamp,” Buffy interrupted. “On patrol.” She shot Xander a grim look. “Spike saved me.”

“Let’s get this taken care of.” There was no arguing with Joyce’s tone, or with the commanding grip of her daughter’s shoulders as she guided Buffy to the dining room. “I’ll explain everything while we’re wrapping you up.”

The absence of the two Summers’ women left Havi, Xander, and Spike standing around awkwardly, and the vampire’s eyes narrowed slightly as he regarded her.

“You’re the bird from the other night,” he commented. “When Red went all firestarter.”

“Yes.” Her voice was clipped, more so than usual, and Xander could see the newly sprung rigidity in her shoulders as her fingers tightened around the banister. Spike made her nervous, which wasn’t all that unusual considering it _was_ Spike. Spike made everybody nervous. However, this just seemed like…more.

“How do I know you?”

Havi shook her head. Her voice had fled in light of whatever fear Spike was inspiring.

Spike, on the other hand, wasn’t moving at all. In fact, Spike was currently frowning, his eyes dark as he took a step toward Havi, features tight as he seemed to be scrutinizing her more closely.

Havi retreated up a stair. Xander could see the pulse hammering in her neck.

Spike closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. When they opened again, gold flecks sparkled in the blue, and his lips curled back into a snarl.

“Baltozar…” he hissed, and launched himself upward.

Havi started moving just seconds before Spike did, knocking Xander over as she tried to flee back to the bedroom. Spike’s hand grabbed her ankle, and she lashed back, slamming her free heel into his face. The vamp bellowed in pain, his grip loosening, and Xander scooped Havi beneath her arms, trying to help her get away.

At the bottom of the stairs, Buffy appeared with half-wrapped bandages dangling from her arm. Her eyes widened in alarm, and she bolted up the stairs, two at a time, to pull at Spike with her free hand.

“Stop it!” she shouted. “I don’t care what kind of macho crap this is, drop it right now!”

Leaping gracefully to her feet, Havi squared her shoulders while she maximized the distance between her and Spike. “This does not concern Xander,” she said. Her voice was frighteningly calm, considering the scuffle that had just taken place.

“No, it bloody well doesn’t!” Spike barked. He jabbed a finger at Havi. “You’ve got his smell all over you, bitch. You were the one who was there, weren’t you?”

Xander leapt forward to stand between them, while Buffy took a similar position in front of Spike. “What the hell is your problem?” he demanded of the vampire. “Havi’s been with me all day, so yeah, she probably does smell like me.” And god, he hoped that was _all_ Spike could smell.

Spike wasn’t listening to him, though. “That was what was bugging me the other night,” he continued. He was straining to attack again, but Buffy’s firm palm against his chest held him back. “ _That’s_ what I couldn’t place. It wasn’t as strong then, but now…” His nostrils flared as he sniffed determinedly at the air. “No bloody way he hasn’t been rubbing up on you some time in the past few hours. Don’t think I could forget the smell of the bastard that easily.”

“Will someone tell me what exactly is going on here?” Buffy said, exasperated.

“Harris’ little _friend_ ,” Spike sneered. “Been playin’ footsie with the wanker who killed Rose. Probably held her down while he did the job.”

Xander felt the muscles in Havi’s arm twitch beneath his hand. “I did no such thing,” she said viciously. “I loved Rose. I---.”

“Set her up, most likely,” he finished for her. “I was _there_ , you daft chit. You can’t pull the wool over my eyes. And you’re wearing Baltozar’s scent like those cheap fags he was always smokin’. There is no way in hell you’re not involved in this.”

At the mention of her boyfriend’s name, Xander’s head whipped around, drinking in Havi’s pale countenance. There was some truth in whatever crazy talk Spike was babbling about, and it dawned on him that he’d known this detail about her boyfriend somewhere in the back of his brain. That was the name Giles had tested Havi with during his interrogation of her. Xander just hadn’t put the two together until now.

For a moment, he hesitated. Had he been wrong about Havi? Had all his good intentions from the day been one massive set-up on her part?

No. Impossible. She hadn’t faked the bruises on her neck, and she’d been genuinely surprised to see Xander that morning. _He_ had been the one to approach _her_. There was no way she was on the wrong side of whatever it was that was bugging Spike.

Buffy was frowning, pulling away from Havi as her eyes darted around. “Is that true?” she asked carefully. “You knew Rose?”

“Yes,” Havi admitted.

“She was her Protector,” Xander chimed in.

Everyone looked surprised at his contribution to the conversation. “Right,” Spike drawled. “And I’m the Queen of soddin’ Sheba. Stop lettin’ her lead you around by the short and curlies, Harris. My money is that you’ll lose ‘em.”

“Look,” he said, “I don’t know anything about this Rose---.”

“That’s who helped us this summer,” Buffy said tightly. “She was killed last week.”

“And I’m sorry to hear that. But Havi is telling you the truth here. She had proof for Giles and everything---.”

Buffy’s eyes widened. “ _Giles_ knows about this?”

Spike snorted. “This just gets better an’ better. Let’s just toss the bitch and be done with it, yeah?”

“There will be _no_ tossing!”

All heads turned to see Joyce standing on the stairs. Her face was solemn, her mouth thin.

“Buffy, back to the dining room,” she instructed. “Spike, finish wrapping her arm. Havi, you come with me.”

Xander was left standing in confusion as first Buffy and then Spike obeyed Joyce’s commands. Havi hesitated at the top of the stairs, glancing back at him, and he was struck by the bleak despair in her eyes. “Can I come with you, too, Mrs. Summers?” he asked, his gaze never leaving Havi’s.

After a moment, Joyce nodded. “But I want to hear what Havi has to say, not you this time,” she warned. “I think too many people have been talking for her tonight already.”

Havi’s small sigh was the only indication of her pleasure with the decision, and Xander followed after them, carefully keeping his eyes averted from the sight of Buffy and Spike at the dining room table. He felt their gazes on him heavily as he wound his way to the back porch with Havi and Mrs. Summers, but set aside the question of their interest in Havi’s boyfriend.

Xander had seen the jerk with his own two eyes. Regardless of what might have happened in the past, there was no way he was going to believe that Havi had faked the anger or hurt Baltozar had caused.

She needed a friend now, more than ever.

* * *

It was only when Buffy winced as he tightened a bandage that Spike realized his anger at finding the woman who’d been in Rose’s home here in Sunnydale was translating into unwanted aggression in his first aid treatment. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he mumbled, and eased the tension in the elastic gauze, taping down the edge so that it wouldn’t come loose.

Buffy’s eyes were turned toward the closed back door. “I don’t suppose you’ve been using that super vampire hearing of yours to eavesdrop,” she commented casually.

Bugger. He hadn’t even thought of that.

“Been a little distracted here, in case you didn’t notice.” He said it with a quick flash of a smile, and was glad when she looked back to him, her eyes softening.

“Yeah, kind of did,” she replied. She paused. “What do you think is going on here?”

“Dunno. Didn’t even know that Harris knew the bird.”

“Yeah, that’s a little weird. Do you think it’s some kind of rivalry thing with Xander? I mean, you attack Havi so he automatically has to defend her?”

Spike shook his head. “According to him, he spent the whole day with her. I knew something was off with the bint the other night, but I couldn’t put my nose to it ‘til just now. Harris couldn’t have known how I felt.”

“And you’re sure? About her seeing the guy who killed Rose part.”

“Would stake my life on it. Hell, I’d stake the baby’s life on it, that’s how sure I am, luv.”

With a heavy sigh, Buffy leaned back in her seat, angling her body so that she could lift her legs and rest them on Spike’s lap. Her hands rubbed absently over her stomach, a small moue making her so delectable that he forgot momentarily about the business outside.

“What kind of life am I going to be able to give this baby, Spike?” she asked softly. “I can’t get through one night without some kind of ER melodrama. How am I going to be around for all the little things, like midnight feedings and her first tooth and---?”

“Stop right there.” Pulling her shoes off, Spike began rubbing Buffy’s feet, strong fingers loosening the tension in the arches. “Buggy before the horse, pet. First off, you’re not alone in this so nothin’s going to be missed. You’ve got me, and your mum, and Rupert when he gets his head out of his ass ‘bout me bein’ the father. Then there’s Red and Oz and---.”

She cut him off with a wave of his hand, a small chuckle escaping her lips. “OK, I get the idea.”

Spike chewed at the inside of his cheek. Buffy was lost in her ruminations, probably dwelling on what had happened back at the cemetery as well as the drama outside. After what she’d admitted to, he desperately wanted to bring up the issue of her patrols, but he was still half-convinced that she’d automatically take it the wrong way and brush him off. Next time, she might not be so lucky. He might not be there to stop some nasty from having their one good day.

His heart twisted. He didn’t want to think about that.

“You’re goin’ to let me do what I came here to do, right?” Not asking the question was impossible, and when she looked at him with a tiny frown, he elaborated, “Watchin’ your back. ‘Specially now. It’s why I’m here, after all.”

Something darkened in her eyes, and Buffy shifted her feet off his lap, curling into a tiny ball on the chair. “Do I have to watch those kind of displays every time?” she joked feebly.

“You know why---.”

“Yeah, but it’s definitely not of the fun to see.” She picked at the edges of the gauze. “Maybe…we should just make it a permanent thing anyway.”

“What?”

“Patrolling together.” She was deliberately avoiding his eyes. “Between school, and the baby, and Willow, and this vigilante business, and now Havi…wow, it’s no wonder I’m all stressy. When I put it like that, I don’t know how I’m doing it, either.”

She was actually bringing up the issue herself. It was more than Spike would’ve wished for. “No reason you can’t even start taking some nights off,” he said eagerly. “Let me take some of the pressure off.”

But she was already shaking her head. “I don’t want anybody to baby me,” Buffy argued.

“It’s not you---,” he started, but at her sharp look, he amended, “OK, it’s not _just_ you. Got a fair interest in keeping the little one safe, you know. You think I like the idea of something happening to either one of you? It bloody tears me apart, Buffy. I’ve got just as much right to want to do what it takes to protect it as you do.”

“I didn’t say you didn’t.”

“No, but your actions are shouting at me, loud and clear.”

“I asked you to go with me tonight, didn’t I?”

“And tomorrow? And the night after that? You can’t tell me you were planning on me bein’ at your side every time you get an itch for a spot of violence, pet. That’s not your style.”

Her lips tightened, her gaze falling again. Before either of them could say anything else, however, the back door opened, and a subdued Xander ambled inside, Havi on his heels. Spike frowned when he saw the way Harris was holding the young woman’s hand, but his mouth snapped shut when he caught the stern look on Joyce’s face.

“Well?” Buffy asked, rising to her feet.

“Havi’s staying,” Joyce said firmly. “And the two of you are going to have a long talk about what exactly is going on.”

“Now wait a bloody minute,” Spike said, jumping to join the fray. His ill temper returned when he saw the proud jut of Havi’s chin. “There’s certain things you don’t know about---.”

“I know enough.” Joyce nodded toward the living room. “Why don’t you girls go get comfortable? Xander’s going to wait for the pizza, and I’d like to have a word with Spike in private.”

Maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t smiled at him once since he’d shown up on her doorstep that put Spike on edge about Joyce’s intentions. Watching the others disperse according to her instructions, he had no choice but to follow after the elder Summers when she headed back to the kitchen, hopping up onto the counter to try and hide his sudden nervousness about speaking with her.

“I haven’t seen you since Monday,” she said, reaching up into the cupboard to pull out two mugs. Putting them down with the three others that were already next to the stove, she added, “How are you doing?”

Somehow, he didn’t think this little chitchat was really about his health. “Not that I don’t appreciate the niceties,” he said, “but don’t s’pose you could just cut to the chase here, could you? Been a bit of a tryin’ day.”

Joyce’s mouth curled into a small smile. “Wait until the baby gets here. All of this is just the pre-show.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle as she turned away to finish up the hot chocolate preparation she’d been interrupted in. “S’pose you’ve got a point there.”

“There’s actually two things I wanted to talk to you about,” she said as she worked. “I’ve heard Havi’s side of the story. Now I want to hear yours.”

Mention of the other woman raised Spike’s hackles. “What did that bitch tell you?” he growled.

Joyce turned a stern look at him. “As long as Havi’s a guest here, Spike, I’d prefer if you didn’t refer to her like that in my presence, understand? I’ve asked the same of her and Xander, so don’t think this has anything to do with you. It’s just a courtesy I’d like to expect from everyone. There’s enough stress going around as it is.” She waited for him to nod. “Now. Tell me why it is you thought it was OK to attack someone who’s a guest in my home.”

There was that maternal condescension in her tone as she spoke, shaming Spike in ways that hadn’t happened since he’d been human, and he dropped his voice respectfully as he related the tale. She already knew the history of it from when he and Buffy had told the story of their summer, so he just skimmed over those details, jumping ahead to his search for Rose after Buffy had left London and how he’d eventually found the seer.

“Never really liked that Baltozar, but since he was Lydia’s contact, I didn’t question it,” Spike said. “But there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s the one who offed Rose, or that that Havi chit has seen him in the last few hours. That means he’s in Sunnydale, and if you think I’m goin’ to just take a back seat while there’s a potential threat to Buffy out there, you don’t know me at all, Joyce.”

“Yes, I think I’m beginning to see that.” Her gaze turned to the doorway, through which the low murmur of Buffy and Havi’s voices could be heard. “She doesn’t deny being with this Baltozar, so you know.”

Spike snorted. “’Course not. She knows she’d be found out in two ticks if she lied about it.”

“Did you see the bruises on her neck?”

He frowned, thrown by the question, and stretched his memory back. “Can’t say that I did.”

“Baltozar caused them. Xander personally witnessed him attacking Havi. He brought her here because she needed someplace safe to stay.”

“Red herring. Likely, she’s settin’ the lot of us up for something, waitin’ until our guard is down.”

“So, because she’s got a questionable history, you think I should just dismiss any claims she has that she means us no harm now?”

The question was ingenuous, and Spike caught her angle within seconds of her finishing. “Oi,” he said, straightening. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not. For one thing, me and Buffy---.”

“Were trying to kill each other less than a year ago, if I remember correctly. And yet, now you’re vowing to be a father to her baby. Supposedly.”

Spike scowled. He had a feeling she would have something to throw at just about anything he might say in his defense. “It’s not the same,” he repeated, petulantly.

Joyce poured the hot chocolate into the mugs, leaving the room quiet for a few minutes while she did so. “I’m not going into this completely blind,” she finally said, handing him a steaming mug. She crossed to the pantry to pull out a bag of mini marshmallows. “First thing tomorrow morning, Havi and I will go see Rupert. Xander claims that he has more evidence that will support Havi’s side of the story.”

“Good to see my word means something ‘round here,” he muttered, staring into the filmy surface of his drink.

He watched her drop a small handful of marshmallows into his mug. “Spike,” she said, and the gentle tone in her voice dragged his gaze away to meet hers. “I haven’t thanked you yet for helping Buffy tonight. What you did…that says a lot. So, thank you.”

Suddenly uncomfortable, he shrugged. “I love her,” he said simply. “If she’d let me take the patrols completely just so that I knew she was safe, I’d do it. No question.”

“I believe you. Are you still staying at the hotel?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Hotels cost money.”

“That, they do.”

“Do you have plans for a job, or for a real place to live?”

He should’ve known Joyce would corner him on this sooner or later. Was he good enough to help provide for her daughter? Was he there just to pursue a physical relationship with Buffy? Mama Summers was ready to divine the truth, it would seem.

“Still gettin’ myself sorted,” he said. “Haven’t even had much of a chance to breathe, if you can pardon the figure of speech. But I will,” he hastened to add. “Just as soon---.”

“How would you like to live here?”

He could only gape at her in shock as she went on.

“The basement needs a good cleaning, but there are only windows at the one end, and it would be big enough for you to make into your own space without feeling like you’re just a guest. I’m sure Buffy would feel more comfortable knowing you’re somewhere she knows is safe, and when the baby comes, having you around means I’ll get to see my grandbaby more.”

“What…? Are you serious?”

“As long as you’re not going to poke fun at me for suggesting it,” she said with a smile.

“No, it’s just…” He shook his head, still awed by the fact that she’d proposed it. “Why?”

“Because I’m selfish.” It was said simply, with complete sincerity. “Buffy’s in college now, and the fact that I only found out about the two of you a couple of days ago just shows how much she’s growing up. This is a way for me to make sure I don’t miss out on too much of it.”

His gaze was fixed by the white fluff starting to melt across the surface of his hot chocolate, and Spike stuck his finger into the fluid, stirring it up before lifting it to his mouth and sucking it clean. Buffy’d already been talking around the issue of his getting a place, bringing up the possibility of the Watcher and most likely nursing other ideas to pull out in case Wesley didn’t pan. How would she feel about this arrangement?

“You don’t have to answer me now,” Joyce said, edging away to start putting the mugs of chocolate on a tray. “But there’s something else in it that works in your favor.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“If you don’t trust Havi, this is the best place for you to keep an eye on her.” Shooting him a small smile, Joyce picked up the tray and exited the room.

* * *

He felt like crap, and he’d been in and out of consciousness all day, but Graham could tell by how the older British guy was so careful with him that he probably looked a hell of a lot worse than he really was. After the last aborted attempt at interrogation, the man---Giles, he remembered them saying his name was---returned with a first aid kit, seeing to the superficial bleeding that had occurred when Graham had passed out again. He’d stayed silent, but the compassion in those weary eyes had spoken volumes, leaving Graham more than a little perplexed when the chains that bound him were loosened slightly.

Giles didn’t consider him a threat. After all the precautions he’d taken, Giles seemed to be of the opinion that Graham was more incapacitated than he actually was.

This was Graham’s chance.

He didn’t say a word. Speaking would likely reveal how much strength he really had. He just watched through heavy lids, struggling to keep his appearance sluggish, while Giles went about his nightly ritual. It was telling that Graham’s presence didn’t seem to bother him too much any more, even more reason Graham had to risk the odds. He just had to time it correctly.

The moment came when Giles bent over the sink to splash water over his face.

Graham’s foot shot out, all his energy focused on the limited range of motion he had with it, and slammed into Giles’ shoulder. The Brit’s head jerked to the side, cracking against the porcelain, and he slumped to the ground, already out cold from the blow to his brow. Quickly, Graham rolled out of the tub and crawled over to the prone form, fumbling in his pockets for the keys he’d seen Giles secret away earlier. Within a minute, he was free.

He hesitated when he stepped outside, inhaling the cool night air with a wondrous delight before glancing back at the door. Against his better judgment, he darted back in, hurrying to the bathroom and double-checking Giles’ vitals. Stable. He’d survive. Probably wake up with a hell of a headache, though.

There was no more time left to linger. With his concern appeased, Graham disappeared again into the night. There was only one place he could go after being gone for so long. He only hoped that Dr. Walsh didn’t have a court martial in mind when she saw him.


	30. All Bonds Do Tie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXVII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Graham has escaped from Giles’ house, Joyce has agreed to let Havi stay with her and has also  
> offered Spike the same arrangement…

In her mother’s house, Buffy realized she would always feel fifteen. She’d complied with the request to hear Havi out without question, even though she was dying to know what her mom was saying to Spike. She’d listened to Havi’s story with minimal interruption, half-listening for shouts of “Bloody hell!” from the kitchen. She’d not even dropped the conversation to find out from Xander just why he’d suddenly developed the need to be Sunnydale’s welcome wagon, remembering her mother’s warning about concentrating on hearing Havi’s story to the end.

But just because she did what her mother asked, didn’t mean Buffy could process it as blithely as was probably expected. Her head was splitting. She had questions upon questions that couldn’t be answered. It felt like she hadn’t slept in over a year.

So, as soon as Havi was done, and as soon as Spike appeared in the living room entrance, lounging against the jamb as he watched her sitting on the couch, Buffy did the only thing she could.

She ran.

To her credit---so she thought---she did manage to toss her mom a cursory good-bye, using the excuse of an early class to escape further confrontation. Brushing past Spike, she headed straight for the front door, not bothering to look back until she realized he wasn’t right behind her.

Their eyes met when she glanced over her shoulder. Locking with the dark blue was all it took for him to straighten and come to her side.

On the way out to the car, Buffy wondered silently just when she’d come to depend on Spike being there for her.

“Where to, luv?” he asked, holding open the passenger door for her.

In spite of the chaos of her thoughts, the corner of Buffy’s mouth lifted at the very obvious reminder of William’s genteel manner. Had Spike held doors open for Drusilla? Part of her wanted to think yes, because then that would mean William had been there all along, as she suspected.

Another, more selfish, part wanted to think no. Because then that would mean William really was all Buffy’s.

“Anywhere but here,” she answered. She glanced up when the door didn’t close right away, seeing Spike’s outline against the star-studded sky. “Is there a problem with that?”

He shrugged. “Just that there’s a whole lotta world that’s not here,” he said casually.

Her gaze flickered to the house behind him, catching her mother’s shadow cross along the living room curtain and then disappearing again. “Your place?”

Something dark passed behind his eyes, but after a moment, Spike nodded and shut her door. Burrowing deep into the seat, Buffy shifted her body so that she was facing his by the time he joined her inside. “Just for a few hours,” she clarified. “Just long enough for me to get my head together. I still don’t have any clothes at the hotel, and repeating Slutty Buffy by getting dropped off at the dorm in the morning doesn’t sound like my idea of fun.”

Nodding, Spike pulled away from the curb in silence, guiding the car with an indolent hand at the top of the wheel. “Take it your little confab with Harris’ chit didn’t sit so well,” he commented.

Buffy sighed. “I don’t know if it’s that, exactly,” she said. “More of a lot of information to try and process all at once. My brain feels like it’s going to explode.”

Switching hands on the wheel, Spike reached across the seat, curling his fingers around her good wrist to guide her into the space beneath his arm. Her cheek pressed against the leather of his duster, and Buffy closed her eyes as the gentle weight of his hold curled around her shoulders. This was better. This always seemed to banish some of the confusion for her.

“What did you and Mom talk about?” she asked.

He shifted beneath her, and for a moment, she thought he was going to pull away. “She asked me ‘bout my side of the story with Rose,” he said instead. Buffy glanced up to see Spike staring out the windshield, his features hard. “Guess she wanted to see if it gelled with what the bitch had to say.”

“And did it?”

“Joyce seemed to think so.”

“But you don’t?”

There was a pause. “Doesn’t matter what I think, now does it? She’s staying there, regardless.”

Buffy lapsed back into silence, closing her eyes to focus on the sounds of the road around them, the feel of Spike beneath her touch. He wasn’t OK with Havi, in any shape or form. When Buffy had come onto his attack at the top of the stairs, it had taken her breath momentarily away to see Spike so enraged. She hadn’t seen that since his days with Dru, and though she recognized that it wasn’t directed at her, it was still a little frightening. It only served to remind her of the demon that lived within him.

“Havi said some things,” Buffy started slowly, and felt him tense at the mention of the name.

“Don’t tell me you believe her, too.”

“I’m not sure what to believe, to be honest.” Pulling back, Buffy sat up so that she could meet his eyes. “She knew things, Spike. Things nobody but Rose could’ve known. She made it sound very convincing.”

His mouth opened to rebut her opinion, but then what she said sank in. “She made _what_ sound convincing?” he asked carefully.

Buffy swallowed. This was the part that was giving her the biggest headache. “Why she’s here.”

His nostrils flared, and she saw his knuckles tighten around the steering wheel. “Something tells me I’m not goin’ to like this,” he muttered.

“Well, there’s two reasons, really.”

“Which is the one that’s goin’ to piss me off?”

“The one where Rose told Havi she needed to come here and protect me. Havi isn’t sure if it’s because of the baby or…because of you.”

“What the fuck?”

The wheel jerked in his agitation, and the swerving of the car made Buffy slide across the seat, jolting harshly against the arm rest. “Watch it!” she complained, and shot him an annoyed glare as she held on, waiting for him to regain control. When it looked like he was going to do a u-turn in the middle of the road, her hand shot out to stop him.

“You’re not going back there,” Buffy warned.

Gold flecks danced in his eyes. “Tell me why the fuck not.”

“Because you’re not picking another fight with her in my mother’s house, that’s why. Do you want to make it even harder for Mom to accept that you’re a part of my life now? This is hard enough as it is. Why do you want to make it worse?”

“Because I’m not havin’ that bitch thinkin’ I’m here to hurt you.”

“By getting into a fight with her. Oh, yeah That makes _perfect_ sense.”

His jaw locked at the sarcasm in her tone “Don’t do this, Buffy,” he growled.

“Do what? It seems to me I’m the one making sure you don’t mess this up for us.”

“Mess this…” 

She heard the audible click of his teeth slamming together, and caught his glance at his mirror before he changed lanes to make an unexpected turn. The force of it broke Buffy’s hold from his hand, and she looked at him, surprised that he was reacting so violently.

“What’s your damage?” she demanded. How had things soured so quickly? she thought, and then stopped, recognizing one of the street signs as it went whizzing past. “Wait a minute. Scratch that. Where are you going?”

“Campus,” Spike replied through gritted teeth. “I’m droppin’ you off at your dorm.”

Her anger faltered. “Why?”

“’Cause I’m not about to drop you off in the middle of nowhere and make you walk back, much as the notion of that appeals right now.”

Buffy’s temper rose again “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked. “Because I’ve got no clue here.”

“Yeah,” Spike muttered. “That’s the bloody problem.”

“Huh?”

A red light forced them to slow down, though Buffy could see Spike’s foot twitch to gun his way through it. He didn’t, though. He just slammed to a stop and glared up at the scarlet spot.

“Told you I’d do anything for you,” he said. His voice was barely more than a rumble. “And I meant it. Knew it would mean some…sacrifices, but I just…it never occurred to me that you’d want to hold me back completely. You’re cuttin’ me off at the knees here, Buffy. I can’t patrol for you. I can’t defend myself. I can’t even have an opinion without you thinkin’ I’m tryin’ to sabotage what’s goin’ on Knew I was love’s bitch and all, but didn’t think it came with its own soddin’ muzzle.”

“That’s not what I’m doing!”

“Oh, really? So, you’ll let me take your patrols ‘til that wrist of yours is better?” He watched her with a cocked brow, but when her silence betrayed just what she thought of that idea, Spike snorted. “Right. That’s what I figured.”

“There’s a way to get things done around here, Spike, and you going off half-cocked isn’t it.”

“Nope,” he said, and then floored it when the light turned green, squealing the tires through the intersection. “There’s Buffy’s way, or the highway. I’m startin’ to see that now.”

“What happened to us being partners?”

“You tell me. You let old William take more risks than you let me, pet. Maybe _he’s_ the one you really want around. Ol’ Spike’s just a nice reminder of a pleasant summer holiday, and a convenient shag for when the fancy takes you.”

That was it. Ignoring her injured wrist, Buffy leapt for the wheel, forcing him to swerve over to the curb, the car bouncing up on the concrete before he could yank it back onto the street. Her foot slid between his legs, hitting the brake, and the vehicle jerked to a halt.

“I don’t know what it is about this car that makes you go around the bend,” she said, “but I for one am getting pretty damn tired of having fights while you’re driving.”

She was practically shouting at him, her fury at his blindness and his erratic mood making her vibrate from the intensity. Half of her body was draped over him in her desperation to get him to stop the car, her breasts pressed into his side as her inner thigh rubbed along his leg, and Buffy became all too aware of the power beneath the denim, the barely restrained violence that hummed beneath his skin. 

Spike’s eyes glittered as they met hers. “Don’t think because you could wind William ‘round that pretty little finger of yours with just a smile and a flash of leg,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “that the same tricks will work on me. You’ve got a whole new beast here to tame, Buffy. I love you, yeah. And so help me, I’d set this whole world on fire if it meant keepin’ you and the little one safe. That doesn’t mean I’m goin’ to just bend over and let you bugger me into bein’ some memory for you.”

“How dare---.”

Very easily.” Slowly, his face shifted before hers, bones rearranging, fangs elongating. “Know you love the poet, but the thing is…do you even _like_ the demon? You don’t trust him, that’s for sure.” His face changed back until those hard blue eyes were boring into hers again. “You keep sayin’ you see William in me, but you’re forgetting that I’m Spike, too. You can’t just sweep the last century under the rug. It happened. To _me_. Been scrapping far longer than I breathed on this rock, and that just doesn’t go away because you don’t want to have to deal with it.” Again, his features merged until it was the vampire meeting her eye to eye. “Been a pisser of a night. Too much mistrust goin’ around for my taste, especially since I thought we were startin’ to get past that, and I just want to beat something to a bloody pulp right about now You goin’ to stop me from doin’ that, too?”

She didn’t know why she did it. Maybe it was hearing him call her on the carpet so blatantly for refusing to give him the slack he needed. Maybe it was the unspoken dare he’d tossed before her. Or maybe it was the hard muscle rubbing so close to her sex.

Buffy kissed Spike. Hard. Her lip sliced on his fang almost at the first contact, the blood flooding her tongue with warm copper, and Spike reacted immediately, growling as he pulled her roughly the rest of the way onto his lap, his tongue pushing past hers to plunder and taste the swelter of her mouth. His fingers dug painfully into her hips, and she twisted her leg in order to wedge it down his other side, straddling him as best as the front seat and steering wheel allowed.

She kissed him until the spots were starting to dance behind her eyes, lights of scarlet and yellow reminding her with their flitting of her need to breathe. When she tried to break away, however, Spike growled again, lifting a hand to tangle in her hair and yank her back to his mouth, while his other slid between their bodies. She gasped at the cool feel of his fingertips across her stomach, and squirmed against the hard creases of the denim, desperate to increase the friction.

“Spike…” she murmured. Mimicking his hold, her fingers found the loose curls at his nape, her nails raking across the skin.

She felt him shiver, break away. When her eyes opened, Buffy found herself staring into the stormy blue again, his vampire visage gone. She hadn’t even realized she couldn’t feel his fangs any more against her tongue.

“Won’t work,” he said, but his hands didn’t move away, the one at her waist deliberately undoing the button of her pants. “This doesn’t make the fight go away, Buffy.”

“I didn’t think it would.” She gasped when his long fingers slid into her underwear, pushing past her outer folds to trace her inner lips.

“God, you’re so wet.” He said it with more than a touch of amazement, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Never breaking her gaze, Spike probed further, driving three fingers into her so deeply that she arched back against the steering wheel.

“You’re a jerk, you know that?” she hissed as he began to fuck her. Her hands clawing into his unyielding flesh, she began to ride up and down on his fingers. “I didn’t…oh god…this isn’t about…” Her attempts to explain were suffocated by the waves of pleasure washing through her, and Buffy gave it up, slamming her mouth back to his as he continued to stroke in and out of her wet depths.

The kisses were no longer marathons, but rather, each was a sprint, a burst of power halted when she thrashed away, or when Spike threw his head back against the rest when Buffy reached between them to grab his cock through his jeans. Her skin thrummed with each drive, hummed and breathed and came to life as only happened when this man---this vampire---touched her. She came screaming his name, her sweat-slicked brow sliding against his as she sought his mouth yet again, and when the return of his fangs cut her tongue, she let him suck on it, let him swallow down the droplets of blood that rose to the tender surface.

“I _do_ trust you,” Buffy rasped when they finally broke away. “I know who you are, Spike. You’re not a substitute.”

His fingers were still buried inside her pussy, though now they were just as still as the rest of him as he pulled back to look at her. His tongue licked a stray spot of blood from his lip, but the hardness was already returning to his eyes.

“Prove it.”

She froze at the ultimatum. “How do you mean?”

“Your mum didn’t just want to talk about that Havi. She offered me a place to stay.”

It wasn’t what she expected to hear. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“What did you say?”

“Told her I’d think about it.” His fingers began stroking her inner walls, his thumb brushing over her clit. “That I needed to talk to you first.”

It was hard to concentrate when he was taking command of her body so efficiently, and Buffy pulled away, sliding down to the leather seat beside him, forcing his hands to come free of her flesh. 

Spike seemed to be expecting her response. With a shake of his head, his vampire mask disappeared and he averted his eyes from hers to stare out the window.

“Guess that’s my answer then,” he said softly.

The fury had dissipated, vanished just as quickly as it had come. His voice gave away his pain, his disappointment building the wall she now felt between them. Carefully, Buffy reached out, wincing when he flinched at her touch.

“I didn’t give you an answer,” she said.

“Lettin’ me get you off and then running away when I ask one thing from you? Felt like an answer to me, pet.”

“That wasn’t---.” She exhaled loudly, clearing her head. “I moved off because I can’t think straight when you touch me, Spike. If you want this to be a serious conversation, you doing…what you were doing isn’t the way to have it.”

He didn’t say a word, just continued staring at the night. The reflection of the moonlight through the glass made his hair look like spun silver, cast his face in shadows of black and white. It effectively hid his eyes from her and Buffy realized that she hated that.

“Look at me,” she demanded. When he didn’t react quickly enough, she slid back onto his lap, feeling his erection pressing into her ass. “Do you want to?” Buffy asked.

His lashes lifted, blue meeting green. “Do I want to what?”

“Take Mom up on her offer.”

Spike shrugged. “Tell the truth, I’m not sure what I want. Coulda knocked me over with a feather when she suggested it. But don’t you fuss. I won’t---.”

“Do it.”

It was his turn to ask. “What?”

“Do it,” Buffy repeated. “If that’s what you want, I say go for it.”

“You want me livin’ in the same house as your mum.” Thick brows drew together in disbelief, his tone skeptical. “Is that what you’re tellin’ me?”

“No, I’m saying that if it’s a solution you think you can live with, you should take it before she changes her mind. She’s been known to do that, you know.”

Her stab at humor fell on deaf ears. “Even knowin’ that bitch is goin’ to be livin’ with her?” he pressed. “You trust me around _her_?”

She knew what he was driving at, and though her heart started to skid at some of the bloodier possibilities of Spike and Havi alone in the same house together, Buffy gritted her teeth and nodded. He needed this. And the fact of the matter was, she _did_ trust him. It was just letting that trust be manifest that scared the living daylights out of her.

A tremulous hand reached up and brushed a lock of hair off her cheek. “You have to mean it, Buffy,” Spike whispered. “Don’t give me this and then change your mind tomorrow. You’ve got no bloody idea how much I want this.”

“I think I do.” Leaning forward, Buffy pressed her lips to his, the kiss simple and chaste. “I trust you with the life of my child. _Our_ child. If that doesn’t that tell you that I mean what I’m saying, I don’t know what else to do.”

This time, the reaction was his. The force of his mouth to hers shoved her painfully against the steering wheel until Spike twisted her sideways, pressing her down into the seat and covering her body with his own Hands clawed at her clothing, her top tearing, her pants scraping against tender skin when he shoved them down her hips. Buffy tried to help, reaching down to free his hard shaft from his jeans, but the moment Spike realized what she’d done, he positioned his erection at her entrance and shoved inside. 

Just in time, Buffy reached above her hand to brace herself against the door, slamming back against his hips to match his pounding rhythm. There was no attempt at foreplay, no pretense of tenderness. Nails and teeth and ravenous mouths were again their weapons of choice, carving their need from the other in marked flesh. The emotions that had been simmering below their skins erupted in flame, engulfing them as Spike drove into her with every last ounce of feeling he had left.

He came with a shout, not bothering to see to her climax first in his need. But as he pumped those last few times inside her, Buffy climaxed again, shivering and rippling around his cock as he buried his face in her neck. Through the clouds of their orgasms, she could’ve sworn she felt something wet on her face, but when Spike finally pulled back, his eyes were clear, his love for her burning behind the blue.

“I love you,” he said, his voice rough. “So much, sometimes I think it’s goin’ to kill me.”

“Well, that’s not good,” she said with a smile. “I can’t say I’m all that thrilled about you dying on me any time soon.”

Spike shook his head, the corner of his mouth lifting in amusement. “This doesn’t make it all better, you know.” Carefully, he pulled back, sitting up and adjusting himself as Buffy did the same. “There’s still sortin’ to be done between us.”

“Yeah, but you gotta admit, it makes things a _little_ better, right?”

His smile grew wider, softening his features. “Maybe a little,” Spike conceded. “Still want to beat the hell out of something, though.”

“Go to Willy’s,” Buffy said. “I haven’t had a chance to get over and clear things out for awhile. It’ll spread the word that you’re back in town, too.” She grinned. “Can you see their faces when they realize what’s going on? William the Bloody and Buffy the Vampire Slayer, tag team extraordinaire.” 

She was rewarded with another brilliant smile, and settled back into her seat as he eased the car back onto the road. It was a small step, and he was right about there being more work to be done. She’d never realized the extent of his feelings about the way she regarded him. Even asking to call him William occasionally must’ve driven that doubt even deeper into him. 

Then something else popped into her head, forgotten during their fight, and Buffy turned to Spike as she spoke.

“I told Havi she was wrong about you,” she said “Just like Rose was. Whatever reason Rose sent her here, it’s got nothing to do with you being a danger to anyone, especially me or the baby. And for good measure, I told her if she laid a finger on my boyfriend, I’d lay more than that on her. So, see? No problems with Havi.”

He reached to take her hand in his, lifting it to his mouth to press a kiss into the palm. “Still got a problem with the bitch,” Spike said. “But thank you for that. ‘Course, you could’ve saved us both a lot of headache if you’d just told me that in the first place.”

She punched his arm at that, smiling along with his teasing laugh. Steps forward, even small ones, were always of the good. Buffy was grateful that she’d managed to keep them on that particular path She had a feeling she was going to need all the friends and allies as she could gather for the months ahead. It was good to have Spike as both.

* * *

Robin’s first report was encouraging. Maggie had decided that the route she’d chosen for Riley to get close to the Slayer had been flawed, encouraging him to develop feelings for Ms. Summers which could prove detrimental to the Initiative in the long run. His death had pre-empted that from occurring, but Maggie suspected that it would have been a very possible outcome. Thankfully, Robin’s added age made the option of using him as a romantic interest less appealing. Threatening the Slayer’s scholastic future seemed the best way to drive the pair closer together, encouraging Buffy to find an ally in unexpected places. Maggie was convinced this was going to work _much_ better.

There were other issues at hand, though, not the least of which was Graham’s continued disappearance. Her usual resources were failing her, and she was about to resort to more unorthodox measures when there was a loud thump outside her office door.

Maggie frowned. Initiative staff would knock. Something was wrong.

She opened the door to see a flurry of guards rushing down the hall, but it was the crumpled body on the form that drew the wealth of her attention. There, in the middle of the floor, was the object of her worry.

He was unconscious, his clothes torn as if he’d been running and fallen. There were no obvious injuries except for on his face. Deep purple shadowed beneath Graham’s eyes, livid and stark against the white of the Initiative hallway. She recognized the signs, and while she was certain the guards would think the unconscious soldier had been in some sort of a fight, Maggie knew differently. This was the result of Graham’s body fighting against the magic that kept each of her men bound from revealing the true extent of their responsibilities. Somebody had attempted to pry him of his secrets.

Hopefully, somebody had failed.

“Get him into isolation,” Maggie ordered, before the guards could raise the question. “We don’t know where he’s been. As soon as he’s been looked over, I’ll be there to question him.”

They obeyed without hesitation, scooping him up and marching away from her office. Maggie wasn’t sure she was happy to see Graham. If it was discovered he’d revealed Initiative secrets, she would have no recourse but to have him eliminated. She really didn’t want to do that. She hoped for Graham’s sake, the magic had worked.

* * *

It would be worth it if Esme got her magic back. That was Baltozar’s mantra as he watched the redheaded girl moving back and forth in front of her window, oblivious to the fact that she was being watched. If the old bat got her powers back, she could do something suitably nasty to Havi’s little boytoy before guaranteeing that Havi would never leave Baltozar again. He was thinking something involving spiders. Lots of them. Small ones that crawled into the tiniest of orifices before starting their painful damage.

This one, though…he still wasn’t sure what the big deal about killing this particular girl was. She was just a college student. Esme had warned him that she had quite powerful magical powers, which meant that he would not only have to take her by surprise but that he would have to make it quick so that she wouldn’t have time for retaliation. But it still didn’t give him a why, and Esme had been tightlipped about her reasoning.

Not that he really cared. A job was a job. Esme had paid him too handsomely over the years not to give her satisfaction on this one, too.

When the black Thunderbird came roaring up to the curb, it was impossible not to avert his attention momentarily. Baltozar’s lips quirked into a smile as his eyes swept over the sleek lines. Nice car, even if it needed a new paint job. 

His smile faded when the two blonds emerged, the guy’s head almost glowing white under the streetlights as he stepped around the front to meet the girl. Though he couldn’t hear the words they exchanged, he could see the passion in the kiss they shared, the way she clung to him even after their mouths had separated. Something inside Baltozar burned in jealousy, remembering too many times when that had been him and Havi, her hard muscles pressing against him as her lips did a wicked dance over his.

But now he suspected what Esme’s game was. Especially when the girl headed toward the same dorm he’d been watching the redhead in for the past two hours.

Spike was in town. The same Spike Esme had been adamant not find Rose until it was too late.

Baltozar saw the second figure join the redhead. So, Spike’s girlfriend was roommates with the young witch. At least he could see the connection now, even if he didn’t know what exactly the purpose of the kill would be.

The only good thing he could see in Havi’s temporary absence was that this time, he didn’t have to figure out how to do the job behind her back. Havi had found out too late about his killing of Rose, and while she had been furious at his betrayal, she’d loved him too much to argue when he explained it was all for the greater good.

Baltozar dropped his cigarillo to the ground and crushed it beneath his boot as he watched Spike speed off. Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day.


	31. The Painful Warrior Famoused for Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XXV.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Maggie has put Graham into isolation in order to determine what has happened to him, Baltozar is  
> planning to kill Willow at Esme’s request, and Spike and Buffy have had a fight about how she’s treating him…

Six hours of brawling later, and Spike felt like a new vamp. Truth be told, he hadn’t really killed that many of the demons he’d found at Willy’s, but the fear he’d instilled by ripping apart the few he had was more than enough to accomplish what Buffy wanted. He’d colored the truth a little, making it look more like Buffy was granting him amnesty in return for a little help keeping the demon population under control. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of his feelings for her, but that was a weapon he didn’t want to just hand over to anyone who might feel inclined to use it. This way, Spike figured he looked like he was using the Slayer to return to power in Sunnydale, and Buffy got a brief respite from having to look like she had a weakness in a new relationship. It would be hard enough when news of her pregnancy leaked out.

It wasn’t the way she’d probably envisioned him going to work for her, but Spike was more concerned with getting the necessary results. Besides, she would likely never find out about his little tall tale. Buffy wasn’t known to sit around having lattes and chitchat with the demon set.

He went back to the hotel to shower. There were more cuts and scrapes to add to his current black-and-blue palette, but nothing extraordinary. Most of it washed away beneath the spray, turning the water to pink before Spike emerged feeling more refreshed than he had in days. He looked better, too, he wagered. Good enough to head over to the Summers’ house and take Joyce up on her offer.

The fight he’d had with Buffy still rankled slightly. Yes, she’d given him the green light to accept the housing offer if he wanted, but the fact that they’d had to have the blowout in the first place tarnished it. He wasn’t sure what he expected. Part of him understood this was a tumultuous time for Buffy, that between the mess about the baby, his arrival in town, and everything else, he couldn’t really expect that she’d be able to deal with it so easily. Another part of him wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her, tell her to snap out of it already.

Spike kept flipflopping about which part he should pay attention to.

He was checked out of the hotel, the few measly dollars he had left stuffed into his pocket, when he remembered what Joyce had said the night before. She was taking that Havi bitch over to the Watcher’s to confirm her story. She wouldn’t be home. Bugger. Without knowing when she’d be back, Spike was reluctant to head over and wait; he’d bake sitting in the T-bird all day.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while he debated what he could do.

He was going to have to find a job sooner or later. His cash was close to gone and while he felt no compunction about nicking what he’d need, he knew there would be hell to pay if Buffy found out. Things were on enough of a tight rope as they were; this was one thing he’d always been prepared to cave on for her anyway.

Trouble was, he didn’t feel like looking for a job. He felt like seeing Buffy.

Right then. Decision made.

Humming, Spike spun the wheel of the car and headed for campus.

* * *

It had been an unsettling night, Xander staying long after Buffy and Spike had left, longer even after Mrs. Summers had gone to bed. He didn’t ask questions about what had been said, and he didn’t make any attempt to trick her into talking about it. Instead, he’d just turned on the TV and settled next to her on the couch, extolling the virtues of some program called “Mystery Science Theatre 3000.”

Havi fell asleep on his shoulder. She woke up to Mrs. Summers gently prodding Xander awake, the morning sunlight already filtering through the curtains behind her.

The sheer niceness of it all kept her on edge. Havi had known William the Bloody would react as he did, and had been prepared for it. She _hadn’t_ been prepared to be believed by strangers, though, nor for Xander’s continued offers of friendship. He got nothing from helping her; it made no sense for him to go on doing so.

Yet he did. And he’d left that morning looking decidedly rumpled but grinning nonetheless, as if he’d been given some great gift.

Mrs. Summers was the epitome of graciousness, cooking Havi breakfast and lending her some toiletries for the shower. While it was impossible to completely relax---she kept expecting Buffy or Spike to come barging in to finish what had been started the night before---the chance to wash away the past twenty-four hours was as close to nirvana that Havi could hope to get these days.

It left her ready to face the Watcher as Mrs. Summers had requested.

There was a moment when Havi hesitated before getting out of the car, but the questioning glance from Mrs. Summers was all she needed to re-gird her strength. There was nothing to fear with this encounter. She had already spoken with Mr. Giles and walked away empowered, believed. She had revealed everything she knew to the Slayer. She had no more secrets to hide.

Why, then, did Havi have this sense of impending doom weighing her steps as she followed Mrs. Summers to his apartment?

The crushed flowers at his front window and the few inches the door stood ajar only confirmed it.

Without waiting for Mrs. Summers’ social niceties, Havi hurried past her to shove the door open the rest of the way, sending it crashing into the wall with a greater force than she intended.

“Wait here,” she ordered the older woman, holding up a hand to stop her from crossing the threshold.

Mrs. Summers nodded. It was as if she could see that Havi was completely in her element.

And she was. This was the life Havi had always trained for. This was the life she’d led as a Protector, first for the Guardians as a whole and then later for Rose. She was accustomed to seek out the danger that threatened those in her charge, and for the first time since coming to Sunnydale, Havi felt utterly in control.

The main room appeared untouched, a half-empty tumbler of whisky sitting forgotten on the coffee table. The light was still on in the kitchen. It was as if the Watcher had either been cleanly interrupted, or left with every intention of returning.

Havi stopped.

Listened.

The apartment still breathed.

Picking up a sheathed dagger from a nearby shelf, she held it at the ready as she crept forward. Dark eyes flickered upward to the loft. If someone was up there, she’d be able to turn and fight them the moment they started moving. Better to check the bathroom first.

She noted the open door just seconds before seeing the top of the Watcher’s head. He was on the floor in front of the sink, sprawled as if he’d collapsed on the spot. Rushing forward, Havi pushed the door open the rest of the way, revealing nobody else in the room, and then crouched at his side.

“Mrs. Summers!” she called out. “Come here!”

Her long fingers flew to Mr. Giles’ wrist. Though there was dried blood on his brow from some kind of blunt force, his pulse was steady and sure. Quickly, she looked around for the weapon and almost immediately spotted the red smear on the outer edge of the porcelain sink. Ah, now it made sense. He’d hit his head and been knocked unconscious.

The empty tub made Have amend her conclusion.

The captured soldier had been the force behind the blow. And now, he was gone.

“Oh, my god, Rupert!” All of Mrs. Summers’ fear vanished at the sight of the Watcher, and she bent to join Havi in looking him over for more injuries. “What happened?”

“He’s been hurt.”

“I can _see_ that,” Mrs. Summers said, annoyed. She looked up and noticed the chains on the floor behind Havi. “What’s he doing with those?”

“Mr. Giles had a young man here.”

Mrs. Summers’ brows shot upward. “Really? But I always thought Rupert was straight.” Her gaze returned to the chains. “Though, oddly enough, those _don’t_ come as a surprise.”

It took a moment for Havi to understand what the other woman was implying. “Oh. It’s not what you think. He brought the young man here the other night to chain him in the tub.”

“Somehow, that’s still what I’m thinking.”

“For interrogation purposes. Mr. Giles and the Slayer rescued the werewolf from him.”

Mrs. Summers began to relax. “Well, that _does_ make more sense.”

Havi straightened. “The prisoner obviously escaped. Buffy will want to be told what’s happened. Can you tend to Mr. Giles while I go and get her?”

“You can find your way from campus from here?”

She kept her chin high. “I am familiar with where Willow and the Slayer reside. I needed to be in order to fulfill my orders to protect them.”

The room was silent. Then, Mrs. Summers reached into her pocket and extracted a thick keyring.

“Take my car,” she instructed. “You’ll get there faster.”

Havi faltered, but took the keys anyway. “How do you know I can drive it?”

Mrs. Summers smiled. “The way I figure it, even if you don’t, you still can’t be as bad as Buffy.”

* * *

Spike could only blink at Willow in dismay. “She’s in _class_?” he said, repeating her last words. “What in bloody hell is she doin’ there?”

Her smile was nervous, and she fidgeted with the hem of her sweater, her fingers unable to keep still. “Hopefully, not falling asleep like last time,” she said brightly. After a moment of awkward shuffling, she half-turned and gestured broadly toward the empty room behind her. “Wanna come in and wait for her to get back?”

He stalked across the threshold, his boots clomping heavily against the floor. When Buffy had given the excuse of an early class last night to get out of quality bonding time with Havi, Spike had thought she was kidding. He was going to have to get her to write down her schedule so he didn’t show up like such a fool any more.

Scurrying around him, Willow rushed to the window to pull the curtain against the morning sun. “Is something wrong?” she asked. “The way Buffy was talking over breakfast, it sounded like you two had patched things up.”

Bollocks. He’d forgotten the rule about best friends sharing everything they could about men. Drusilla had only ever really had Darla for the girly stuff, and he’d had Buffy all on her own back in the day. Or this past summer. Or both.

Bollocks. He hated trying to keep the timing shit straight.

“Just had a few hours to kill,” he said. He sat on the edge of Buffy’s bed, leaning back on his elbows to watch Willow flit around the room. “Think the better question is, how are _you_ doin’, Red? Can’t say you’ve been frolicking in your usual annoying way since I hit town.”

“I’m dealing. It’s actually a little better now after Esme tried to voodoo me.”

“How’s that?”

She perched on her bed, facing him. Spike could practically see her need to talk about it pulsating beneath her skin.

“Because I’m not afraid of it any more,” she admitted. “Up ‘til then, everything about the magic wigged me out. It was always right there, bubbling away, and I was scared about it boiling over.”

“Smart thinkin’. That’s a lot of juice you’ve got there.”

“And it _totally_ changed the way I was seeing people, too.” She was speaking faster now, like a locomotive gaining speed going down a sharp incline. “Everywhere I look, power just blinks back at me. Most of the time, it’s nothing, but sometimes, like when I look at Buffy, it’s blinding.”

While Spike had dabbled in his own magic a few times over the years, he was just a dilettante. He knew his limitations, and he’d learned enough to know there was a lot more to this mojo business then waving a few stinky herbs and chanting some bad Latin. What Willow said made sense.

“What do you see when you see Esme?” he asked, suddenly curious.

Her glee in being able to talk about this faded. “Dark,” she replied. “Like a…black hole. Like there had been great power there and just got…sucked away.”

Spike grinned. He couldn’t help himself. “That’s ‘cause it did, Red.”

She had the grace to blush. “I know, but…” She bit at her lip, contemplating her next words. “When she showed up at Giles’, I just wanted to run away. Not me, Willow---well, yeah, me too, but…something inside me. The magic, I think. I had to fight just to be in the same room as her.”

“Why fight it? Nothin’ good is goin’ to come of her bein’ around. Mark my word.”

“Maybe.”

“No maybe about it.”

She fell silent at that, obviously weighing the certainty in his voice against her own experience. “You know what it was like?” she finally said.

“Pray. Enlighten me.”

“Like two positive ends of a magnet. Or two negative ends. Doesn’t matter which.” She held up her hands in front of her, palms facing each other, and simulated trying to push them together but failing. “As long as they’re both charged the same, they repel each other. It felt like that.”

“Your mime act needs a spot of work, pet.”

“But you see my point, right?”

“Yeah. Now let me make mine, all right?”

“OK.”

He nodded toward her right hand. “Make that negative while the other stays positive. What happens then?”

Frowning, Willow regarded her hands for a moment. “They---.” She clasped her hands together, and her eyes widened. “Oh. Oops.”

“Rest my case, Red.”

Hastily, she separated her fingers and slid them beneath her, as if sitting on her hands would make his analogy less tangible. “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “Giles was right. She’s an old lady who can’t hurt me now. What happened the other night only proved that.”

Spike shook his head. “You’re askin’ for trouble, you know that, don’t you? Didn’t you learn anything this past summer?”

“You’re just paranoid because of what she did to you and Buffy.”

“Bloody right, I’m paranoid!” He shot up, indignant at her casual dismissal of his worries. “What’s it goin’ to take for you to realize you’re playin’ with fire here, little girl? Magic or no, you’re still a fuckin’ child compared to that old bitch. She’s had a whole lifetime to get around the track, and you’re just gettin’ out of the starting gate. There’s not a chance in any hell dimension you wanna name that you can suss out what evil plan she’s hatching, and by the time you _do_ find out, someone’s goin’ to get hurt, or be dead already. You want _that_ on your conscience?”

She’d gone increasingly pale during his rant, and vehemently shook her head at his final question.

Spike relaxed back onto the bed. “You’ve got something of hers, and if she doesn’t want it back, I’ll eat my coat. Take it from the evil one in the room here. Give the old witch even a fraction of an inch, and there’ll be hell to pay.”

His words cast Willow into a deep, contemplative silence that weighed heavy in the small room. Frankly, Spike couldn’t believe that she was being so blind as to not see what looked so obvious to him. What was it with this lot and their second chances for people who fucked them over? Didn’t they see how it would only mess with them in the end?

He, of course, was the exception to that little observation. Spike considered himself the exception to a lot of things.

“What would you do if you were me?” she asked all of a sudden.

He snorted. “Thought I’d made that pretty clear. Get rid of her.”

“But…” She chewed at her lower lip. “…I think I need Esme. For a little while, at least. She really is the only person who understands the magic. She can help me get it under better control.”

“So, then, why are you askin’ my opinion?”

Willow ignored his annoyed observation, rising to her feet to begin pacing the room again. “If you’re right,” she said, “it’s probably safe to say I can’t anticipate what she’ll do next. I didn’t see the pricking coming, and god knows she took everybody by surprise this summer.”

Spike didn’t say a word. He just narrowed his eyes, watching her closely as he waited to see where she was going with this.

“So, if I can’t do anything about Esme, that means my only choice is to do something about people she might want to hurt. Me. Buffy. You. Any of us, really. I can do _that_. That shouldn’t be hard at all.”

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

Her eyes gleamed in delight as she lifted them to meet his. “A protection spell,” Willow said. “It would have to be something generic, because I don’t know what the specific threat could be, and that would mean it wouldn’t be all that powerful, but anything is better than nothing. It could at least give us all a heads-up if something was wrong. Give us an added means of defending ourselves against her if she decides to try something like you think she will.”

Somewhere in her convoluted reasoning, Spike was sure there was a flaw to this. There had to be. The solution seemed too simple for it to really work.

“You can do that?” he asked instead, his tone wary. “Without mucking it up?”

Willow bristled at the accusation. “Sure,” she said. “I mean, I’d have to do a little research, but it couldn’t be that hard. And it’s not like I don’t have the means. I just need to find the way.”

“Buffy won’t like it. She’s got this thing ‘bout people overprotecting her, remember?”

That stopped her only for a moment. “Then, maybe Buffy shouldn’t find out.”

A single brow shot up. “You’d try to pull one over on your best friend?” he said, disbelievingly. “Thought you two were joined mouth to ear.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right, that’s why I had to use magic to find out what you wro---.” Her eyes went wide, and her lips clamped shut as she realized what she’d been about to reveal. Spike’s estimation of the little witch went up a full notch.

“Pulled a little peekaboo, did you?” he said with a smirk. He shrugged. “Doesn’t make no never mind to me. I’ve never tried to hide how I feel about Buffy.”

“You love her.”

“Well, yeah. Thought that was obvious with the whole comin’ over to join you white hats.”

“So, you’d do what whatever you could to make sure she was safe.”

“’Course.”

“Using whatever means were at your disposal.”

It was the repeat of the word “means” that brought Spike up short. Willow watched him, waiting for him to respond, but he knew that behind her seemingly wide-eyed innocence, lurked a mind ready to trap him into a logical corner if he let it. Hell, she’d already done it, and the thing of it was…he agreed with her. Hadn’t he done the same thing with Rupert in regards to Buffy’s patrols? And he’d spent half the night tossing a lot of demons with half-truths and all-too-real threats just to accomplish the same thing Willow wanted.

“She finds out, it’s on your head,” he warned.

“I know. I’m going to talk to Giles about it. I don’t want to screw it up.”

He didn’t say anything more, just let her prattle on about the possibilities of what the magic could do for them once she had it under control. He was all for using what tools were at hand as much as the next guy, and the fact that Willow had such power at her disposal was certainly reassuring. But magic always had consequences, and whether or not he was growing fond of her and Oz, Spike remained wary about the wisdom of her growing reliance on it.

He’d have to keep an eye out on her, too. If it looked like she was going a little too far, they’d just have to have a little chat.

* * *

The little witch was supposed to be leaving for class soon. Baltozar had gotten her schedule and according to what he’d learned, she wasn’t the type to be tardy or skip. Within the next half hour, she should be walking out the front door of her dorm, her stack of books tucked in her overachieving arms, and the rest would be history.

He found the perfect vantage point on a rooftop across the street. After getting Esme’s instructions, he’d decided the best way to kill the witch was with good old-fashioned artillery. A single shot through the brain and the job would be over. It lacked flair, and personally, he liked a little bit more blood and panic when he killed someone, but this wasn’t the time for catering to his own tastes. There would be time enough for that later.

He just had to be careful not to hurt the blonde roommate if she was with Miss Rosenberg. After he’d learned of the connection, Baltozar had rung Esme up to see what was going on. Esme had made it very clear that no harm could come to that one; apparently, she had other plans for the blonde that required her to be alive.

Shame. He would’ve liked to put the screws to the vampire just one more time.

* * *

Graham knew when he opened his eyes and saw the sterile ceiling of the isolated hospital room that his fall out of the frying pan could very well have landed him straight into the fire. He was back on Initiative territory and the fact that he couldn’t move but couldn’t see any restraints holding him down had to mean that they were using every pharmaceutical means within their power to keep him under their control. That wasn’t good.

“You’re awake. I’m glad.”

He couldn’t move his head to see Dr. Walsh, but her voice was neutral which could mean just about anything. “It’s not that bad, is it?” he croaked. His throat was dry. It felt like he hadn’t had anything to drink for days.

“Just precautionary measures,” she said. “Until we’re satisfied you’re not a threat to the organization.”

Graham’s eyes fluttered shut again. That was what he’d feared.

“Someone tried interrogating you,” Dr. Walsh continued.

“They didn’t succeed.”

“We know. Can you tell us who it was who abducted you?”

This was the question he’d been dreading. He’d known it would come, and he’d known it would come very quickly. Until the werewolf had come into the bathroom and spent so long talking to him, Graham had had every intention of giving up the people who’d gone to such lengths to find out who he worked for.

But some of what the young man had said had struck a nerve. Stuff about honor. Stuff about friends. Stuff about doing the right thing. Graham didn’t want to believe the whole story about how the werewolf tried to secret himself away, but he’d seen the cage when they’d grabbed him. It was hard to discount what he saw with his own eyes.

“I asked you a question, Captain Miller.” Dr. Walsh’s voice had hardened. “Who did you escape from?”

When he opened his eyes again, she was standing at the side of the bed, her face implacable as she gazed down at him. “Demonhunters,” he said without pause. “They were watching the werewolf. When the sedative wore off the HST, they took advantage of the chaos. They thought I’d be able to lead them to more hostiles, which is why they kidnapped me. Apparently, they capture hostiles for profit.”

Her ensuing silence made him wonder if his lie was just going to get him into further trouble. He’d always had a good poker face; Graham was hoping it wouldn’t fail him now.

“What changed in your captivity last night that allowed you to escape?” she finally asked.

“I was left with one of the weaker members of the team,” he said. “I neutralized him and freed myself.”

Dr. Walsh nodded. “There has been some new activity in town that we haven’t been able to account for,” she said. “Last night in particular, there was a rash of fights reported amongst the HST’s. That seems to fit with your circumstances.” For the first time, her face softened, and she patted Graham’s arm in what was supposed to be a maternal manner but was actually stiff and awkward. “Rest, soldier. We’ll need to debrief you on these demonhunters as soon as you’re up to the task.”

He closed his eyes again once she left the room.

His hope was that it would take him a long time to mend. He wanted his lies firmly in place before the Initiative started their own interrogation.


	32. Power to Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XCIV.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Baltozar is poised to killed Willow, Spike and Willow have had a heart-to-heart about Esme and her magic, while Havi has gone to the campus to get Buffy after discovering Graham has escaped…

With classes in full swing, there were few options for parking. Havi had little choice but to leave Joyce’s SUV in an adjoining neighborhood and jog to the campus, intent on reaching the Slayer and relaying the new information about the Watcher as quickly as she could. This would show them her loyalty, she thought as she ran. Spike would have to accept her at face value once he saw how eager Havi was to help.

So focused on her goal, she almost missed the familiar scent drifting along the slight breeze. Only when she reached the walk outside the dorm did Havi hesitate, sniffing pointedly before looking around with a frown. It smelled of Baltozar’s cigarillos, dusky and slightly sweet. She didn’t think people smoked that particularly brand outside of Europe.

Then, she saw the crushed white butts, ground into the earth beneath a nearby tree. The grass was trampled, and when she looked up, she saw the dried ash that still clung to the rough bark of a low-hanging branch.

From that spot, someone could watch the dorm without being seen.

Someone, but specifically…Baltozar.

Whirling on her heel, Havi broke into a dead run for the front door of the dorm. She only hoped that she wasn’t too late.

* * *

“You’re kidding, right? What about the blue one?”

“I’ve already told you what I think about the blue one, Red. The other’s more fetching.”

“But it’s way too tight.”

“Still not seein’ the problem. It’s not like you’ve got anything to hide.”

Silence.

“You think?”

Spike rolled his eyes. How Oz put up with his girlfriend’s insecurities about her looks, he had no idea. He was about to tell her exactly what she could do with the sweater he preferred when a furious pounding came at the door.

“Thank god,” he muttered as Willow went to answer it.

His relief was short-lived when Havi pushed her way past Willow, her dark gaze sweeping the room with a practiced eye. Leaping to his feet, he yanked Willow out of the way, placing himself between her and the new arrival before Havi could surprise them with a weapon, letting his fangs slip into place.

“Where’s the Slayer?” Havi demanded, heedless of Spike’s angry state.

“None of your soddin’ business,” he snarled.

To her credit, she didn’t cower in the face of his fury. Instead, she looked past him to Willow, her mouth grim. “You must come with me,” she said to her. “You are in grave danger.”

“Of what? Bein’ stabbed in the back? Don’t think so, Studs.”

When Willow remained behind him, mute in the face of the supposed threat, Havi seemed to realize she would get nowhere until she’d dealt with Spike. “Baltozar has been watching the dorm,” she said, this time to him. “I do not know why, but it cannot be good. We must get Buffy and Willow to safety.”

The Spaniard’s name did nothing to ease his foul mood, but Spike refused to step back. “And you just conveniently showed up to do the totin’, huh? Funny how that works.”

“I came to retrieve the Slayer. Her Watcher was knocked unconscious.”

“Uh, not that I don’t worry about Giles,” Willow said, poking her head out from behind Spike, “but that’s not really all that surprising. He gets knocked out a lot.”

“It occurred when his prisoner escaped.”

“Oh. OK, that _is_ newsworthy, then.”

“What makes you so sure that Baltozar’s been pokin’ his nose around?” Spike asked.

Wordlessly, Havi held out her hand, opening it to reveal a crushed white cigarette butt. His nose wrinkled at the familiar scent.

“Damn,” he muttered. His gaze flew to the window, but with the sunlight still deadly on its other side, he was barred from using it to search the grounds.

“Then, you understand the threat.”

He swiveled his eyes back to Havi. “I understand he’s a killer who’s already made shish kebab of one person I cared about,” he said. His fingers wrapped around Willow’s wrist, his human countenance returning. “C’mon, Red. I’ll get you out of here so that Buffy can take care of the bastard.”

Pulling Willow past Havi to get to the door, Spike was jerked to a halt when the other woman grabbed Willow’s free wrist, trapping her between the two who were each so determined to be the one to protect her.

“Let her go,” he snarled, and started to yank to free Red from the unwanted hold.

Electricity began to surge across Willow’s skin, making it ripple and glitter, and her eyes sparked with orange flame. “Stop it!” she ordered.

The energy was released with a brilliant flash.

Spike was thrown off like a ragdoll, crashing into the wall with a loud thump as his body sang from the electricity still rushing through it. As he blinked against the stars dancing before his eyes, he saw Havi in a similar position on the opposite side of the room, though she had managed to knock over a chair at the same time. _Good_ , he thought angrily.

Slowly, it dawned on Willow what she’d done, and contrition softened her features. Rushing to Spike’s aid, she babbled, “Sorry, sorry,” and pulled at his arm to help him back to his feet. “I guess I just don’t know my own strength.”

“Yeah, well, I’d rather you left me out of your hat tricks, Red,” he complained. He turned a wary eye to Havi, stifling the iota of alarm Willow’s magic burst had momentarily aroused. “Good to see you got it at least half right, though.”

It was taking Havi longer to recover from the blast, wobbling slightly as she finally managed to stand. “Why…did you do that?” she asked.

“I didn’t mean to,” Willow said. “It’s just a…defense mechanism.”

“But I am not your enemy.”

“That remains to be seen,” Spike said.

Pressing her lips together, Havi strode determinedly to the window, pulling aside the curtain to peer outside.

“Watch it!” Spike cried out, leaping away from the golden shaft of light that cut across the floor.

She ignored his irritation and continued her visual search. “He could be anywhere,” she said. “It would be foolish to linger longer than is necessary.”

“Tell you what,” Willow said, holding up her hand to cut Spike off when his mouth opened to interrupt again. “Spike and I will go check on Giles, while you go wait for Buffy at her class to let her know about the possibility of Baltozar hanging around.”

“Now, wait a bloody---.”

“It’s not like Buffy can’t take care of herself, Spike.” Grabbing her backpack, Willow slung it over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “And if there’s really danger, she’s the best one to deal with it, right?”

“You would choose to escape with a vampire rather than me?”

Willow flushed in the face of Havi’s confusion. “No offense, but I know Spike, and I know he’s not going to hurt me. Plus, vampire strength. Big bonus.”

“It’s daylight. He is a detriment.”

“Only if I need to get out of the car. Sorry. This round goes to Spike.”

Spike was left grinning at Havi with wicked delight when Willow opened the door. Though she was waiting for the pair of them to leave with her so that she could lock it behind her, he remained rooted long enough to get one last word in with Havi.

“What can I say?” Nonchalantly, he shrugged his shoulders. “The bird’s got excellent taste.”

He sauntered out into the hallway, the memory of Havi’s wide-eyed frustration burning brightly on his mind’s eye.

* * *

Baltozar’s blood ran cold when he saw Havi go into the dorm. What the fuck was she doing here? Her purpose on the Hellmouth couldn’t coincide with Esme’s in some way, could it? But why would she show up at the one place he’d been instructed to watch if it didn’t? Had she found out and was here to stop it?

It didn’t matter. He couldn’t risk Havi getting caught in any kind of crossfire. His marksmanship was good enough that he wasn’t worried about hitting her, but if for some reason she _was_ involved with the witch, Baltozar couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t get hit with backlash of some sort. He was going to have to abort his immediate plan.

He was almost to his car when he saw the black Thunderbird parked beneath the covered walkway that led from the back of the dorm. Baltozar paused. Spike was here, too. When had he arrived? It must’ve been when he’d been getting into place for the shot, Baltozar decided. It was the only time he hadn’t been watching the building like a hawk. Come to visit the girlfriend, most likely.

Then, a more chilling thought struck.

If Havi really was here to see the witch, she was now in danger. There was no way a powerful vampire like William the Bloody wasn’t going to be able to detect the scent of the Guardians all over her, and if Spike suspected for a second that Havi might be in some way connected to Rose’s murder, he’d attack without even thinking about it.

His feet were moving before he could finish the thought, his hands searching his pockets for anything he could use as a weapon.

Maybe it wouldn’t take doing Esme’s job to get Havi back. Maybe all it would take was playing the hero, swooping in to save her life from the vengeful vampire determined to take it.

Baltozar grinned as his boots thudded against the concrete.

He liked that scenario a hell of a lot better than relying on the old bat’s non-existent magic. That one was all about him.

* * *

She really hadn’t meant to do anything to Spike and Havi, but when they’d decided to turn her into the Thanksgiving wishbone, something inside Willow had swelled to the surface. It was hot, and it was angry, and in those few seconds when it took control, she felt freer than she’d ever felt before.

Then, she’d seen Spike slumped against the wall, his hair curling from the electrical discharge. And the guilt had set in with a fierce vengeance.

It wasn’t quite so strong with Havi, though. She still wasn’t sure what her deal really was.

This was the one part of the magic that Willow couldn’t deny still wigged her out. Freaky with more than a little deaky, it surged beyond her control every time something seemed to threaten her. She recognized it for what it was now. It had been the impetus for what had happened to Esme the other night when she’d pricked Willow’s finger. And the fact that it could react so vehemently against even the tiniest of threats did not fill Willow with sunshine.

To make it worse, she had to pretend it was OK. If Giles or Wesley or anyone knew just how out of control those moments left her, they’d forget the New Age feel-good therapy with Esme and go straight for the padded room and strait jacket. Not that it would do them any good. After realizing that the magic would lash out at those she _knew_ wouldn’t harm her, like Spike, Willow was starting to wonder if maybe it might not be a better idea to figure out how to siphon off some of the power instead of trying to control it. She would have to feel the Watchers out on that idea the next time she saw them.

This wasn’t going to be the next time, however. This was the let’s-get-the-hell-out-of-here-before-some-creepy-guy-tries-to-hurt-her time, with a side of let’s-help-Giles. This was running for safety.

She wasn’t entirely sure why Havi bugged Spike so much, but Willow wasn’t going to question it. She just followed him doggedly to his car, and pretended not to hear Havi just a few footsteps behind her.

Spike had a harder time with that part. On the first floor of the dorm, he whirled in the hallway and bared his best non-fangy snarl at Havi, forcing her to come up short.

“Me gettin’ Red to Rupert’s doesn’t require a bloody bodyguard,” he said. “Shove off.”

“I’m merely going to provide assistance---.”

“No, you’re goin’ to leave us the hell alone or I’m goin’ to put a couple extra holes in the back of your neck, understand?”

Havi lifted her chin in defiance. “The Slayer would not be pleased with that,” she said.

“Yeah, well, leave Buffy to me.”

“She will not condone your murdering of humans, regardless of the fact that you’re the father of her child.”

His cold grin made Willow’s insides shrink in fear. “Looks like there’s a lot you don’t know about my Slayer,” Spike said.

While Havi didn’t appear to be swayed by Spike’s retort, Willow edged closer to the wall, her eyes darting between the two as they continued to argue. She was going to need to have a serious talk with Buffy about what the deal was. If she didn’t know better, she would’ve said that Spike was actually serious about killing Havi on the spot.

“Not to be a spoilsport,” she said in a brief lull, “but aren’t we supposed to be making with the getaway because of the impending psycho that’s supposedly hunting me down?”

The reminder stopped Spike’s next retort, and he straightened his shoulders as he continued to glare at Havi. “Right then,” he said. “Best we get on. Make sure the door hits you on the way out, Studs.”

He turned on his heel and stalked to the exit, grabbing Willow by the wrist as he brushed past her. She stumbled against him, wincing slightly at the pressure of his hold, but took a small measure of comfort in the fact that the magic didn’t rise to the surface. So it could differentiate intent to a mild extent. That was good to know.

Sunlight surprised him when he pulled open the door, and Spike growled as he instinctively shrank away from it. “Don’t s’pose you could get the bitch back there to fetch me a blanket,” he said, releasing Willow to slap at the flame that had erupted on the back of his hand. “Might be easier to keep you safe if I’m not a big pile o’ dust in the process.”

“I told you to I would be the better one to protect her,” Havi said.

Willow was knocked onto her bottom when Spike flew past her to wrap his burned hand around Havi’s throat and shove her into the wall.

“Gettin’ a mite tired of this holier than thou act,” he growled. “’Specially since bein’ unholy is something I’ve always prided myself on.”

Havi’s fingers clawed at his grip, but there was no submission in her eyes. “This isn’t about us,” she hissed. “This is about the Slayer. And Willow.”

“Then I suggest you back the fuck off.”

So rapt in the confrontation, Willow didn’t hear the back door open again until it was clicking shut. She did, however, see the hatred gleaming in the face of the man who entered, and there was no way she could miss the makeshift stake he clutched in his large hand. Especially when he made a fierce lunge for the fray.

“Spike!” Willow shouted.

* * *

The witch’s shout was an irritant more than anything else. Couldn’t she see that he was in the middle of a perfectly good tussle here?

But then he caught the scent of Spanish cigarettes.

He was already starting to move when he felt the wood plunge into his back. The scream ripped from Spike’s throat was almost as much from surprise as it was from pain, and he let Havi fall to a crumpled heap as he whirled to face his attacker.

Rage made Baltozar’s face a livid red, and his fist slammed forward into Spike’s jaw before the vampire could react. “I should’ve killed you in Barcelona,” Baltozar said. His foot drove into Spike’s gut, sending him down to the floor next to Havi. “Vampires always have such a way of ruining perfectly good lives.”

Spike reached to grab the nearby ankle, but Baltozar danced back out of his way. “And you didn’t kill a perfectly good Guardian,” he said. “Right.”

Falling had driven the stake deeper into Spike’s flesh, scraping along inner organs with a burning rasp. At least the bastard had missed the heart. Spike figured he had Red to thank for that one.

“Leave him alone!”

It wasn’t the voice Spike expected. Behind him, Havi rose to her feet and stepped over his prone form, placing herself between him and Baltozar.

“Don’t tell you’re protecting _him_ ,” Baltozar said in disbelief. “Wake up, Havi! He was trying to kill you!”

“It’s not something you haven’t tried yourself,” she said. Her voice was cold, emotionless, and Spike frowned up at her through his haze of pain.

“I never---.”

“You heard her.”

Now Willow’s intervention is what Spike had expected. She could start with the fireworks any minute.

“I mean it.” Pause. “Pretty please?”

Spike rolled his eyes. Red’s cred just bottomed out with the begging of the bad guy. He was going to have to talk to her about that when they got out of this particular mess.

“Is that why you’re here?” Havi asked Baltozar. “To try and protect me?”

The muscles in his jaw twitched, and the glance he shot Willow betrayed his intent.

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t think that’s it, Studs,” he said carefully. “Just think that was an added bonus for your boyfriend here.”

For the first time, Havi faltered. “You can’t hurt _her_ , either,” she said. “I won’t allow it.”

“Because it’s your grand calling?” It came out as a sneer, and Spike’s dislike for Baltozar swelled. “She’s a child. A nothing. You’re better than that. _We’re_ better than that.”

“Hey! The nothing child is standing right here!” Willow protested. “And…I’m not so nothing. Just try attacking me. See how much of a nothing I really am. I’ll make you go all poof. Really.”

Maybe it was the final _really_ that set Baltozar off. With a grimace, his leg swung back in a wide kick, sweeping Willow from her feet and sending her tumbling to the floor again.

Havi reacted first, springing forward to with fists and snarls to start pummeling against Baltozar. It took him by surprise, but he quickly recovered, lashing back with almost as much rabid fury as hers was ice, crashing into opposite walls to send plaster flying while Spike just tried to stay out of their way.

The fight lasted for only seconds before a fireball appeared from nowhere and crashed into Baltozar’s back.

With a fearful shout, Spike rolled out of the reach of the flames, ignoring the pain shooting through his torso from the wood embedded in his back. Beyond the burning Spaniard, he could see Willow’s outstretched palms, her skin still charged with electricity from the magic that continued to swell to her fingertips.

“A little consideration, Red!” Spike shouted. “Wankers aren’t the only things that can burn here, remember?”

But she didn’t seem to hear him. All her attention was trained on the man who’d hurt her, and Spike’s gut sank. She was going to set the whole place on fire if she kept it up. And he couldn’t exactly stop her without going up in flame himself.

That didn’t stop Havi, though. She saw the threat and dove to place her long frame between Willow and Baltozar, her cheek bleeding from a nasty gash.

“Be smart,” she ordered. Behind her, Baltozar had dropped to the ground, rolling around on the floor, trying to extinguish the inferno that had already scorched through his clothing. “You do this, and you’ll be killing yourself.”

Willow didn’t move. The energy crackled between her fingers.

“He won’t be a threat,” Havi continued. Slowly, she backed up until she reached the spot where Baltozar had stopped. “I’ll see to that. Just…do not do this.”

Willow blinked. Once. Then, twice. Her hands never moved.

A groan came from Baltozar’s curled-up form. Havi’s heel slammed into his face, effectively silencing him.

“Listen to her, Red,” Spike said. When the witch turned incredulous eyes to him, he shrugged. He couldn’t believe he was saying it, either. “The prat’s out for the count. He can’t hurt you now.”

Slowly, her hands fell to her sides. “I…I…” But she couldn’t finish the sentence. The strength in her shoulders dissipated as quickly as it had come, and she slumped back against the wall.

Stepping forward, Havi crouched at Willow’s side, examining the bruising that was already starting to bloom on the witch’s cheek from where she’d impacted on her fall. “You must rest,” she instructed. “Can you walk well enough to return to your room?”

Willow nodded and feebly rose to her feet. “What about Spike?”

“Nothin’ wrong with me that a little extraction won’t cure,” he said, struggling to stand. “Though why these pillocks are always takin’ a poke at me through my back, I have no idea.”

“Buffy will be home from class soon,” Willow said. She stopped at his side and put her arm around his back, careful not to touch the wood that still protruded slightly from the leather. “She can help me patch you up.”

Spike caught her wide eyes as she looked at his back. “Tell me the leather’s not ruined,” he said with growing fear.

“Um…well, ruined is probably a little harsh.”

He scowled. “But you can mojo it back the way it was, right? It’s not like I didn’t get it tryin’ to save your skin, Red.”

“I can try. But…it’s just a coat, Spike.”

“You did _not_ just say that.”

Havi stepped in front of them before they could continue to the stairs. “What do you wish me to do with him?” she asked, gesturing toward Baltozar’s unconscious body.

After only a moment’s thought, Spike reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Stow him in my boot until Buffy gets back,” he said, tossing her the jangling ring. “Black T-bird. And hold your breath when you open it up.”

“Why?”

“I’m trustin’ you with my car and you can’t trust me with this? Be that way then. But it’s your nose, Studs.”

He turned his back on her and let Willow start leading him toward the stairs, leaning on the small witch a little more heavily than he would’ve liked. The wound hurt like a bitch, and it was only the thought of a little TLC from Buffy that kept him going at that point.

“So,” Willow said when they reached the door, “you save my life, so I save yours? Does this make us all tit for tat now?”

“Think there’s still a spare tit out there somewhere,” he replied with a sly grin. “Might belong to your beau, though.”

She giggled at his small joke, and as they started to climb the stairs, Spike couldn’t help but relax more in her presence. Yeah, her magic was starting to scare the hell out of him, but the easy camaraderie Willow offered in its aftermath was almost too enticing to resist. It was something she and Oz seemed to share. Each powerful in their own right, but when not utilizing that power, two of the friendliest faces he’d run across in decades.

It was a feeling Spike thought he could get used to. Very fast. This Sunnydale arrangement just might end up being the best thing that ever happened to him, he decided.

Once he got this bloody stake out of his back.


	33. Give Them Thy Fingers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXXVIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Baltozar’s attempt to kill Willow was thwarted by both Havi and Willow, leaving him burned and bleeding and thrown in Spike’s trunk, while a skewered Spike is being tended in Buffy’s dorm room…

It was probably the last scene she would’ve expected to walk in on. Well, maybe not the _last_ scene. The dream Buffy had had about Giles and Xander playing pick-up-sticks on her dorm room floor while Willow danced in the background to Madonna’s “Vogue” would probably qualify for that spot.

Still, opening her door to see Spike lying on his stomach across Willow’s bed, his t-shirt in pieces on the floor while Havi stitched a gaping wound in his back with fluorescent thread rated as fairly unusual. Even for her.

It took a second of gaping to realize that a wan Willow was lying on Buffy’s bed, and currently waggling her fingers to her in greeting.

“How was class?” she asked. Though she was obviously trying for chirpy, she was failing miserably.

“Apparently not nearly as exciting as what happened here,” Buffy replied. She walked around to Spike’s head, crouching down to look him in the face. “Are you aware of who exactly is sewing you up?”

“Don’t remind me,” he groused, and then winced when Havi pulled a stitch particularly tight. “Hey! Told you to watch it with the pointies back there, Studs!”

Buffy’s brows shot up. “Studs?”

“Bride of Frankenstein doesn’t roll off the tongue quite the same.”

Her gaze flickered between the two of them before deciding it was unlikely she’d get an easy answer from either. “Willow?” Buffy asked. “Care to share why we’ve become triage central?”

“Havi’s boyfriend showed up and tried staking Spike when he was fighting with Havi.”

Well, that certainly made more sense than any of the scenarios she’d been contemplating.

“Tell her the rest of it, Red.”

Spike’s unexpected intervention made Willow flush. “Oh, it’s no biggie,” she said to Buffy’s expectant face. “I just kinda, sorta, _maybe_ …set the guy on fire.” She gave her friend a brave smile. “Oops?”

“What?” Buffy looked around the room for burn damage, but found nothing out of place. “You didn’t… _kill_ him, did you?”

“Baltozar is still alive,” Havi offered. “We’ve contained him in Spike’s trunk, waiting your return.”

“Well, I’m as returned as I’m going to get,” Buffy said. Dropping her bookbag to the floor, she grabbed the keys she recognized as Spike’s from the nearby desk. “Let’s get him out of there. He’s probably going to need medical attention.”

“Wait, Buffy.”

She turned at Spike’s call, folding her arms across her chest. “Something tells me this is going to be an attempt to stop me from getting the crispy critter out of your car.”

“The tosser showed to try and have a go at Red there,” he said. He batted at Havi’s hands, wincing slightly as he rolled into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. “Just think maybe we should suss out what we’re goin’ to do with him before we start healing him up, is all. Or have you forgotten that this is the same bloke who skewered Rose not too long ago? You really want him doin’ the same to your best bunkmate?”

Buffy paused. She hadn’t made the connection between Rose and the fact that this was Havi’s ex. That changed things a little bit.

“We’ll have to interrogate him,” she said. She chewed at her lip. “Normally, I’d say, let’s take him to Giles’, but he’s already got his hands full with one interrogatee.”

“Actually…” Havi straightened from the first aid, looking pensive for the first time since Buffy’s arrival. “…that’s no longer true.”

Buffy listened with growing amazement as Havi related the story of finding the Watcher unconscious and his hostage missing. “And you were going to tell me this _when_?”

“Well, we got a little distracted,” Willow said. “Plus…” She gestured toward Spike. “…ouchies.”

When she glanced at Spike, he affected such an obvious pout of pretend pain that Buffy just had to smile. “Fine,” she said. “But you’re better now, right?”

Carefully, Spike stood up, and though his back still looked a mess in spite of the stitches, he nodded. “Take more than that wanker to put me down,” he said.

“Sometimes, I think it would take a whole army of Slayers to take you down,” she shot back.

Spike grinned. “Well, yeah. That’s what comes from bein’ the best.”

“With an ego to match, apparently.”

“And don’t you love it.”

She turned away before he could see the amused grin she couldn’t hide. “Let’s get over to Giles’ then,” Buffy said. “Obviously, we’re going to have some talking to do.”

“I’ll call Oz and tell him to meet us,” Willow said, rising from the bed.

“And I shall call Xander.”

Everybody stopped in their paces to stare at Havi, but she only lifted her chin higher.

“He is your friend as well, isn’t he?” she said. “He will wish to know what is going on.”

“Well, yeah,” Buffy said. “I just---.”

“Then, he should be contacted.”

They were left gaping as Havi went to the phone first, pulling out a piece of paper from her pocket and starting to dial. Willow edged closer to Buffy’s side and whispered, “At least this one’s not a demon.”

Spike’s snort of derision rang through the room. “Think the jury’s still out on that one, Red.” He grabbed his coat before snatching the keys from Buffy’s unexpecting hand. “And nobody’s drivin’ my baby except for me. Get what you need. I’ll pull the car around.”

* * *

It was a ragged bunch that came together in Giles’ living room. Wesley regarded them with fascination, wondering if they were completely aware of the picture they presented. Buffy and Spike had taken over Rupert’s big chair, and she was fussing over his disinterest in his recent injury. Willow was curled against Oz in the corner of the couch, while Havi sat next to Xander, who apparently was having difficulty figuring out what to do with his hands, alternating between folding them between his knees and aborting touches of the woman at his side. While Joyce fussed in the galley kitchen preparing drinks and snacks for everyone, Rupert leaned against one of the stools, holding a compress to his head.

The only one missing from the scene was the unfortunate would-be assassin. Apparently after discovering that he’d lapsed into unconsciousness, Buffy had insisted that they take him to the hospital before coming to her Watcher’s flat. His burns had been more extensive than the young people had realized, and coupled with some malodorous stench from being locked in Spike’s boot, he was immediately placed into critical care by the emergency room staff. They had left him there with their contact information should there be a change in his status, but the doctors were not optimistic.

“There is a bright side to your encounter this morning,” Wesley said to Willow, drawing everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand. “You didn’t suffer from any sort of blackout this time, correct?”

Willow’s eyes widened. “Oh! No, you’re right. I didn’t. I mean, I got all woozy, and it’s probably a good thing I didn’t have to operate any heavy machinery, but, yeah, I was all awake girl this time.” She turned a bright smile to her boyfriend. “Go me!”

“She needs to learn to control her powers, though,” Havi interjected. “I was not a threat to her, and still she lashed out to me.”

“Not a threat,” Spike said. “Bugger that. That’s why you wouldn’t take no for an answer, right? Even when Red told you to back the fuck off.”

“I didn’t actually say the ‘fuck’ part,” Willow said hastily to Oz.

“I figured that,” he replied. “It’s OK. I’ve got my Spike filter turned on.”

“It doesn’t matter who said what,” Buffy intervened. “We have to draw some boundaries here. Like, knowing who’re the good guys and who’re the bad guys and living with those choices.”

“Let’s do a show of hands,” Xander said. He stuck his right up in the air. “All those against the powers of evil, say aye.”

Though nobody spoke up, people around the room followed Xander’s innocent example and raised their hands.

When Spike just sat there, unmoving, Buffy poked him expectantly in the side. He looked at her, startled, until, very deliberately, she raised her hand a little higher.

“Oh, right,” he said, lifting his left hand to join the crowd. “Still manage to forget that sometimes. Must be all those years of…” His voice trailed off at her raised eyebrows. “Let’s go fight that evil,” he added with fake enthusiasm.

“Yes, well, as…enlightening as it is to see that we agree we’re all on the same side here,” Giles said, “it doesn’t tell us what we should do next. There’s the problem of the missing vigilante, not to mention Willow’s power---.”

“Buffy’s pregnancy,” Joyce offered.

“Hey!” Buffy protested. “I don’t think my baby---.”

“ _Our_ baby, pet.”

“---qualifies as being as dire as GI Joe gone bad or Willow’s mojo control issues.”

“I wouldn’t call it dire,” Willow grumbled. “Important maybe, or even serious, but not _dire_.”

“Regardless of our definitions,” Wesley said, “Rupert is right. We need to sit down and reflect on just how we plan to proceed.”

The room lapsed into quiet as everyone pondered his declaration. Joyce wove between the furniture, passing out drinks, and then returned to sit next to Giles.

“Personally, I’d like to make sure the issue of Havi and Spike is resolved,” she said. “I have to say, I do feel better about believing Havi’s story now, but if Spike is going to move into my house---.”

“What was that?” Giles exclaimed.

“I offered Spike a place to stay,” she said evenly.

“Uh, Joyce, I haven’t actually said yes to that yet,” Spike said.

Buffy frowned down at him. “Did you change your mind?”

“No, but---.”

“Wait a minute.” Setting aside his compress, Giles pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closed as he spoke. “Let me get this entirely straight. You are suggesting that both Spike and Havi live with you, under the same roof, indefinitely? Have you gone completely mad?”

“I don’t think---.”

“No, I didn’t think you had.” He cut Joyce off without pause. “Neither is exactly a known variable, and yet you seem ready to just _accept_ everything they say as gospel, without thought as to what the repercussions might be.”

“Hey!”

It was said simultaneously, though not by the injured parties themselves. Buffy and Xander exchanged a quick glance, gathering strength from their solidarity, and then Xander rose to his feet.

“You didn’t see that Baltozar, Giles,” he said. “You have no idea what he’s capable of, so don’t go jumping on the wrong opinion bandwagon about Havi just because she’s new in town. Doesn’t the fact that she helped protect Willow against him just this morning mean anything?”

“Xander’s right.” Buffy stood to stand beside him. “She’s done nothing but help since she got here. I have to admit, I’m not that thrilled she wants to sleep next to my old room, but if there’s a fight coming, there’s no way I’m going to turn down extra muscle. Especially if mine are busy with babymaking.”

Wesley caught Giles’ wince of discomfort at Buffy’s cavalier mention of her pregnancy, and stepped away as she confronted her Watcher even closer.

“As for Spike, we’ve had this discussion, Giles. And we’ll keep having it until you start believing me. He’s here, and he’s not going anywhere. This baby? As much his as it is mine, and if he wants to be even closer to us by moving into my mom’s basement, then so be it. Would you rather he and I were sharing an apartment someplace?”

The idea seemed to shock both Giles and Joyce, and there was a glimpse of something resembling awe in Spike’s eyes as he regarded the Slayer. Her Watcher might not be ready to accept the inclusion of the vampire into the group, but between Lydia’s repeated stories about Spike’s search for Rose and the obvious love he exhibited for Buffy, Wesley was inclined to place his faith in their repeated avowals. After all, he’d learned his lesson about going against Buffy the hard way the previous year. He was not a stupid man.

“My suggestion is we just take this one day at a time,” Buffy went on. “Willow keeps going with whatever meditation techniques you and Wesley can teach her, and Spike and I keep an eye out for these vigilantes. When this Baltozar guy wakes up, we talk to him. Until then, we don’t even know what we’re fighting. _Havi_ doesn’t even know, and she had a seer to help her out. Getting all worried isn’t going to accomplish anything except get somebody else hurt. None of us wants that.”

“I would still like Spike’s assurances that his problems with Havi are in the past,” Joyce said. “I won’t have the same kind of displays I saw last night repeated in my house.”

Spike shot Havi a black look, but slumped back in his chair in defeat. “You got my word,” he said. “So long as Studs plays nice, I’ll do the same. But if I find out she’s even looked at Buffy cross-eyed, all bets are off.”

“That’s that, then,” Buffy said brightly. She glanced at the empty tray her mother had set down. “Were you doing any food to go with those drinks, Mom? Maybe something without any redeeming nutritional value whatsoever?”

Joyce and Giles exchanged a look. “I have some…chocolate McVitie’s I brought back from my last trip to England,” he said warily.

Spike immediately brightened, leaping from the chair to head for the kitchen. “Why didn’t you bloody well say so?” he said loudly. They heard the sound of the refrigerator opening. “Don’t suppose you have any bags of blood lyin’ around, too? Something about dunking a digestive in a mug of A-positive sounds too good to pass up right about now.”

“Digestives?” Buffy said, with a small wrinkle of her nose.

“It’s a kind of…cookie,” Giles explained.

With a sudden burst of energy, she bolted to join Spike in the kitchen.

“I thought only the pregnant woman got the cravings,” Willow commented.

“Myth,” Joyce said with a knowing nod. “When I was pregnant with Buffy, Hank gained almost as much weight as I did. Of course, that could’ve been because I refused to eat alone every time I had a craving.”

“Does that mean Spike’s going to swell up into our very own Goodyear Vampire?” Xander asked with far too much excitement.

A crash came from the adjoining room.

“Buffy did it!” Spike called out.

“Tattletale,” she hissed, and then, louder for the others in the flat to hear, “Sorry!”

“Dear lord,” Giles muttered. “How on earth are we going to survive another nine months of this?”

“It could be worse,” Havi said, completely deadpan. “They could be living with _you_ instead of Mrs. Summers.”

It took a moment for the sentiment to sink in, but all too quickly Willow was giggling, Oz was smiling, and Xander was proudly declaring that his comedic influence was finally rubbing off on the stalwart Havi. Wesley took the opportunity to pull Giles aside, lowering his voice so that his words couldn’t be heard by the others.

“What about Esme?” he asked. “How do you feel we should proceed in Willow’s teaching?”

“Frankly, part of me is hoping that the next person she sets on fire is that blasted witch,” Giles said with more malice than he probably intended. “I can’t help but think that there’s something else going on there that we just don’t haven’t fathomed yet.”

“I can go back to the hotel and speak with her. String her along, perhaps? If I play up the events of this morning, it’s possible she could tip her hand.”

“Doubtful.”

“Do you have a better solution?”

Sighing, Giles turned away from the conversation to see the various young people chatting in the room. “No,” he admitted. “Willow seems more than willing to continue.”

“Well, we _were_ the ones who convinced her Esme wasn’t a threat.”

“Please don’t remind me.” He shook his head. “We’ll just have to go on as we have been. Until something more definitive turns up, I don’t see as we have much of a choice.”

Wesley nodded. “I’ll speak with Esme anyway. The fact that Willow didn’t lose consciousness this morning might mean something, and if it does, it’s better if we hear it first.”

* * *

She hid her troublesome emotions until after Wesley had left her room. Somewhere in the pit of her stomach, Esme felt the first fingers of true fear creep into her consciousness, bile rising in her throat at the prospect that all her hopes would go with her to her grave.

Baltozar had failed. What was worse, he was now in the hospital, courtesy of a coma and third degree burns, and the Slayer was ready to interrogate him once he was well enough to be subjected to such a thing. Any means to accomplish the more physical aspects of her tasks had just been snatched out of her hands by a foolish, lovesick Spaniard.

She really detested Havi.

And she hated the Slayer even more.

The news about Willow was worrisome as well. During the most recent outburst, the young witch had managed to maintain enough control not to lose consciousness and to stop when requested. Granted, neither consequence was without its problem, but the sheer fact that the magic protecting her from physical harm was already starting to mold to her psyche meant that it would be that much more difficult to separate from her later on. The longer Willow had to grow accustomed to the magic, the harder it would be for Esme to take it back.

She’d lied to Wesley, of course. He didn’t need to know that this new turn of events meant that the magic was starting to settle on its own. It was still going to consume Willow, but they wouldn’t know that until it was too late. To them, it would just look like she was starting to control it. They’d think that Esme was redundant and ship her back to the UK to die under the Council’s aegis, a shadow of her former self.

So, she told Wesley what would guarantee her prolonged presence.

“It’s growing erratic,” she’d said. “The longer she contains it, the more difficult it’ll become to predict.”

“But that doesn’t make sense,” he’d argued.

“That’s because you didn’t live with the power your entire life. Think of it like a pot of boiling water. Every time the power gets used, it makes it boil harder. But water doesn’t boil consistently. Sometimes the surges are big, and sometimes they’re small. Willow was lucky today. She had a small surge.”

The Council idiot believed every word. It was the only good thing Esme could muster from the entire conversation.

She would have to do everything she could to derail Willow’s assimilation of the magic. At the same time, she had to do something about Baltozar. When he woke from his coma, he might be a liability, though Esme didn’t think he would talk very easily. To top it all off, she needed to find someone else she could manipulate in the meantime. Someone either mercenary enough or with a strong enough reason to wish to join her side.

That would be the hardest part. She had no contacts in Sunnydale. She didn’t have her magic yet. If she ever hoped to retrieve the power of the Slayer artifacts, Esme would have to start getting creative.

She just hoped it wouldn’t take too long to come up with a good idea.

* * *

Dr. Walsh wasn’t going to wait long before interrogating him for real, Graham knew. When she did, there was even the possibility that the magic that had been utilized to keep him from spilling too much to strangers would be turned around to force him to tell them exactly what he knew. Then, they’d find out he lied to them. His situation would go from bad to much, much worse.

Shifting in his hospital bed, Graham felt his healing body protest at the slight movement and had the stirrings of an idea. Dr. Walsh had made it clear that they wouldn’t question him until he was stronger, but if for some reason he was forced to stay in the hospital a little longer, maybe enough time would lapse that their attentions would be diverted. Or maybe, they’d decide it wasn’t important after all, and take him at his word. After all, he’d been a star soldier up to this point. They really had no reason to doubt him.

Well, except for the fact that he was lying through his teeth about what had happened to him.

He was still staring at the ceiling, contemplating how he was going to proceed, when the door opened and Dr. Walsh came walking confidently in. She held a file folder in her hand, but kept it closed as she stepped to his side.

“How are you feeling?” she asked without preamble.

“Better,” he replied carefully. His gaze flickered to the folder but he held his tongue. She would tell why she was there soon enough.

She did.

“We’ve had an interesting report from Sunnydale Memorial today,” Dr. Walsh said. “I’d like for you to take a look at a photograph and tell me if you recognize someone.”

Graham waited as she pulled out a shiny eight-by-ten and held it out for him to examine. Though nothing was betrayed on his face, the sight of the burned body made his stomach turn. Additionally, there were bruises on the swarthy man’s face that indicated a vicious fight, and one in particular near the left eye was so dark as to be black. Someone, or something, had had its own angry way with the man; he could only hope that whatever he’d done had been wrong enough to merit such an attack.

Dr. Walsh was watching his reaction intently. “Do you know him?” she asked. “Have you seen him before?”

That’s when it clicked. This was a test of his earlier declaration. Dr. Walsh wanted him to either identify this man as one of the demonhunters or catch him in his lie.

He took a gamble.

“The injuries make it hard to tell,” Graham said evenly. It still surprised him how easily he found it to lie. “But he does look familiar.”

“Is he one of the men who held you hostage?”

At least she wasn’t beating around the bush.

“He could be,” he said. “Like I said, his injuries---.”

“His name is Baltozar Marroquin,” Dr. Walsh interrupted. She slid the photograph back into the folder. “He’s a Spanish mercenary, renowned in Europe for some of his more bloody involvements. This morning, he was admitted to Sunnydale Memorial in a coma, with third degree burns covering most of his back. The person listed in his contact information is Willow Rosenberg.”

Graham’s lips thinned. That was the werewolf’s girlfriend. What had happened?

“We’ve backtracked Mr. Marroquin’s presence in Sunnydale,” Dr. Walsh continued. “His arrival coincides with this month’s full moon. Considering the retribution that seems to have been paid, we think it’s highly likely this is one of the demonhunters currently in town to try and catch the werewolf ahead of us.”

“He’s not the one that I was left with,” Graham answered truthfully. Now came the lie. “But I heard the name mentioned once or twice.”

“You didn’t mention that your captors were foreign.”

“I don’t know if all of them were. The one I dealt with the most was British. He was the one I knocked out in order to escape.” Better to pepper his story with enough truth to make it more realistic. It would make any future interrogation easier to manipulate.

Dr. Walsh seemed satisfied with his response, and something inside Graham loosened. “We’re going to keep an eye on this situation,” she said, moving back to the door. “I’ve decided not to pursue our capture of the werewolf until we’ve better assessed what the threat actually means to us. If such a well-known mercenary can suffer such an attack, I’m reluctant to lose any more good men.”

When she finally walked out of the room, Graham was left with a sense of relief. Somehow, he had a feeling that his debriefing had just taken a backseat to finding out more about what had put the demonhunter in the hospital. He wasn’t going to argue. Any respite he got from imminent death was a good one.

* * *

Maybe it was because he was wounded that Joyce gave in so readily to Buffy’s demands to be allowed to spend the night. Spike didn’t care. The end result was still the same. He was stretched out on the cot in the cluttered basement, a mug of warm blood on the floor beside him, Buffy bustling around to try and bring a sense of order to the space.

“OK, remind me to have a talk with Mom about this newfangled fad going around called garage sales,” she said as she shifted yet another box. Stopping, she sat back on her heels and turned curious eyes to him. “How is it you don’t have this much crap? You’ve been around way longer than Mom has.”

Spike shrugged, ignoring the twinge of pain in his back from the movement. “Left a lot of stuff behind in South America when Willow mojo’d me to London this summer,” he said.

“Do you miss it?”

“Some. Not like the lot of it can’t be replaced, though. Just need to find a decent music store in this hellhole.”

She looked thoughtful. “So, you don’t have any Freston heirlooms you’ve been toting around for the past century? Nothing we can pass on to Schmoo?”

“Schmoo? Please tell me that’s not your first choice for a baby name.”

“What? You keep calling it the little one. Why can’t I call it Schmoo?”

“Because that’s the name of a bloody cartoon.”

“But a cute one.” She paused. “And how is it that you know that?”

In spite of his initial horror at the nickname, Spike grinned, even as he shook his head. “This is goin’ to be a nine-month battle with you, isn’t it?” he asked, rolling onto his side to make more room on the cot. He curled his arm around her waist when she snuggled in beside him, spooning against his front as naturally as if she’d been molded specifically for the purpose.

“What is?” Her voice was already getting sleepy. It had been a long day for both of them.

“The little one’s name.” Sliding his hand beneath her shirt, he splayed his fingers across her stomach, taking warm comfort from the twin echoing heartbeats he could feel beneath his touch. It was impossible not to lean forward and nuzzle the exposed skin of her neck. “You know, I like it better when we’re like this. _Much_ better.”

“You mean, all cuddly?”

“No, not fightin’ ‘bout…” Spike stopped. He didn’t want to spark another argument like the one from the previous night.

Buffy caught onto his meaning anyway. Carefully, she placed her injured hand over the one he had on her stomach. “I’m working on it,” she whispered. “Accepting…all of it. You’re not the only one who can love so much that it hurts, you know.”

It was a good thing she couldn’t see his face. Spike’s eyes fluttered closed as the emotion overwhelmed him, and he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the scent of her until it seemed to flood through his pores. “I’ve got time,” he said. “Just…don’t shut me out, OK? What was said last night…it’s still there, Buffy. Know we haven’t talked about it today, but…that doesn’t mean it’s gone.”

“I know.”

Her breathing was slow and even, and as the silence stretched out, Spike began to wonder if maybe she’d fallen asleep. It was all right if she did. It had been a long day for both of them, and there was more than enough time ahead of them to---.

“What about Phoebe?”

“Who the hell is Phoebe?”

Shifting slightly in his arms, Buffy looked over her shoulder at Spike. “For the baby. If it’s a girl. Phoebe Noelle.”

He frowned. “Isn’t that that dozy bird on the sitcom about the coffeehouse?”

“Well, yeah, but---.”

“Then no.”

Her lower lip jutted into a pout before she brightened again. “What about switching it around? Noelle Phoebe?”

“Still no.”

The pout returned, and Buffy settled back into his embrace. “You’re going to be a stick in the mud about this naming business, I can tell,” she complained.

“Since when has my stick ever been a problem?” he teased, thrusting his hips slightly into hers.

She slapped at his hand, but snuggled in deeper. “Go to sleep, Spike,” Buffy said.

There was a lot that was still wrong, that still needed to be talked over and fixed and worked at. There were issues of ex-Protectors living under the same roof as him and comatose demonhunters in the hospital and Red’s increasingly scary mojo. There was Joyce and Giles and Xander and Oz and that Esme bitch and all Buffy’s profs at college who were giving her such a hard time. There was a lot of shit that just didn’t want to be ignored.

But there was a lot that was right, too. And in that moment, Spike knew that though it was going to take time, he wasn’t going to have to skirt those hazards all on his lonesome.

“Love you, too, pet,” he murmured. His fingers brushed along her stomach. “Love both of you.”

Like Buffy said…all it was going to take was just a little time.


	34. Brief Hours and Weeks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXVI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Baltozar’s in a coma, Esme doesn’t know what she’s going to do now, Graham has a brief reprieve when Maggie thinks Baltozar is the one who kidnapped him, and the rest of the gang is just trying to get through each day as it comes…

It shouldn’t have been so easy. He was the Big Bad. He’d terrorized whole armies of humans across most of the continents, leaving a scarlet river of bodies a mile wide in his wake. Where Spike went, chaos followed, and he wouldn’t have wanted the last century of his life to be any different. He was William the Bloody, Slayer of Slayers. Bunkering down on the Hellmouth amidst a group of people he’d tried to kill less than a year earlier should’ve made him absolutely miserable.

It wasn’t.

As it turned out, it was fuckin’ _great_. It didn’t take long for him to slip into this little family as if it was his own, and he knew exactly who was to credit for that.

Buffy.

She loved him. More importantly, she liked him. She did everything in her power to get the others to see in him just what she did.

Even when it drove him crazy.

_“I’m_ not _bloody wearin’ it!”_

_“But it’s cute!”_

_“It’s ridiculous! Besides, s’posed to be my night off, remember? Halloween’s for the prats who can’t handle bein’ truly evil the rest of the year.”_

_She just stared at him, arms across the breasts that were already starting to swell from her pregnancy._

_They held the staring contest for a full three minutes before Spike grabbed the tweed jacket from the hanger, nearly ripping the sleeve off in the process. “If Harris says one thing that pisses me off,” he warned, “I’m tearin’ his tongue out, got it?”_

_“Xander won’t say a thing,” Buffy promised with a wide smile. “He’s going to be too busy staring at the hotness that is Havi. You should see the outfit_ _Willow_ _and I helped her pick out. Xander’s eyeballs are going to melt.”_

_“You makin’ her go as a bloody awful poet, too?”_

_“Nope. Salome. You should have seen her wigging out over all the scarves.”_

_When she turned her back on him to start gathering the pieces of her own costume, Spike grabbed her hips, pulling her back against him so that her ass nestled against his hardening cock. “Make a deal with you,” he murmured into her neck. “You arrange to get a few of those scarves after Oz’s little shindig and let me do what I want with them, and I won’t say another word about you makin’ me dress in this godawful kit.”_

_“It’s not godawful. It reminds me of when we were in the park.”_

_“Do we have a deal?”_

_She affected a put-upon sigh. “I suppose. Honestly, Spike, the things you make me do for you…” Her voice trailed away when he let her go, eyes twinkling when she danced beyond his reach again. “Don’t forget the glasses. The glasses make the outfit.”_

_“Yeah, yeah.” But his bad mood was gone in the wake of images of Buffy stretched out on her bed, slender wrists bound over her head._

_“Oh, and by the way…” She shot him a wicked grin. “I’d already made those arrangements.”_

Interspersed with the good, however, were moments when he wanted nothing more than to take the nearest inanimate object and shove it through the chest of the person who was currently pissing him off. Not surprisingly, that person was often of the male persuasion. Spike had always had trouble playing nicely with the other boys in the sandbox. But then someone would come along and either distract him from the tension at hand, or the person doing the pissing would go away, and Spike could go back to wondering just what in hell had happened to him that he’d gotten so bloody lucky.

Except he already knew the answer to that.

A spell. Mojo from the witch he detested more than anything in this world. Magic that had sent a lonely Slayer back in time to meet a lonely poet.

A tiny, infinitesimal part of Spike wanted to kiss the ground Esme walked on for getting that part right.

He just never admitted that part out loud to anyone.

* * *

After Baltozar went into his unfortunate coma, it was all about control with the Watchers. No longer was Esme allowed to interact with Willow at Mr. Giles’ flat with just anybody around. Oh, no. Wesley and Rupert and that little bitch Lydia who showed up out of nowhere decided to take the matter by the horn and messed with Esme’s plans in finding a new partner by closeting her away in a small house on the outskirts of town.

“Away from the direct influence of the Hellmouth,” Wesley reasoned.

Insufferable prat. As if the Hellmouth had anything to do with Esme’s desire to get her magic back.

Lydia and Wesley moved in, and the three became their very own bad British television show, polite and restrained on the outside, ulterior motives on the in. They refused Esme the dignity of leaving her alone for even a minute; if one of them went into the town, the other stayed behind. The only time Esme got any privacy at all was when she went to the loo. It was getting to the point where they were making noises about bringing her a doctor because they worried she had picked up some urinary tract infection.

The only breaks in the dull autumn routine came when Rupert brought Willow to the house. Wesley had created a schedule where Esme met with the young witch three times a week, but she was no longer allowed to work with Willow alone. All sessions happened in the middle of the living room, with all three Watchers hovering in the background. Even Willow had made a comment in the beginning about watched pots and boiling points, but she’d been ignored just as effectively as Esme. They had no choice but to conduct their training sessions with an audience.

Under any other circumstances, Esme would’ve been fascinated by the young girl. She was highly intelligent, with an eagerness to master the magic that reminded Esme of her own youth. More than once, she answered a question or mastered a relaxation technique with unequivocal speed, and she countered the Watchers’ careful probing with an ease that Esme admired. In another time and place, she would’ve loved to take Willow Rosenberg on as an apprentice.

This wasn’t it, though. This was a time to figure out how to get her powers back, now that she knew the trick in doing so.

But days stretched into weeks which stretched into months. And each bound the magic even more tightly to the redhead.

Each made Esme even more determined to get it back, once and for all.

* * *

She never said another bad word about the magic to Giles.

Oh, she meant to. Honest. More than once, Willow’s mouth opened up, all ready to spill about how exactly the power made her feel, and maybe it might be a good idea to siphon some of it away instead of channeling it, and that it was OK for Buffy to be the only one with super powers, really, but then a tiny voice in the back of her head would whisper, “Do you _really_ want to do this?”, and she’d clamp her lips together, and smile, and forget about some of her worries until the next time she blacked out.

Because she was handling it. She was. The sessions with Esme were working---sort of---and more and more of Willow’s attempts to use the magic were actually turning out like she planned. Like the protection spell on Buffy…

_“Thought you said you were goin’ to talk to Rupert about this, Red,” Spike said with a scowl as he watched her dig through Buffy’s drawers._

_“I did. I was. But then he made that comment about meddling with forces unknown and I started to think that maybe he might not think it was such a good idea after all.”_

_“Didn’t want to be told no, huh?”_

_“Well, no. Hey, did you ever tell Buffy about that funny demon we ran into the other night on patrol who thought you were the master of Sunnydale?”_

_Spike shut up then. He wasn’t stupid. And he stayed quiet the entire time he helped Willow cast the spell. They knew it had worked as soon as Buffy came back from class and told the story of how a pile of books had nearly missed falling on her in the library, somehow hitting the poor guy at the table behind her instead._

_Spike’s hidden smile had told_ _Willow_ _all she needed to know._

His glee hadn’t been quite so secretive when she surprised him after Buffy’s first baby clothes expedition…

_“Still think it was a bloody waste of time,” Spike grumbled. “We don’t even know the sex of the little one yet. You’re goin’ to end up takin’ back half the rubbish you bought today.”_

_“Nuh uh,” Buffy said. “I’m keeping all of it. Unisex clothing isn’t just for rock stars any more.”_

_“Not to mention, we needed your car for transport,” Willow added._

_He just scowled at her, his hands filled with shopping bags._

_Buffy peered at the night sky as they walked through the nearly empty mall parking lot. “You think I can cancel patrolling tonight on account of too much shopping?” she asked._

_“I’ll take the watch,” Spike said. “Just tell me---hey!”_

_He’d been too distracted with Buffy’s question to notice Willow snatching the keys from his pocket and racing for the trunk of the car in time to stop her._

_“You are_ way _too paranoid about people touching your car,” Buffy said as they walked up to it. She began taking the bags from a stunned Spike and dropping them into the open trunk. “You haven’t even painted it yet. I totally don’t see what the big is.”_

_Buffy was too absorbed in her shopping to notice the blatant sniffing Spike did in the car’s direction, and she definitely didn’t notice the wide grin Willow shot him when he looked to her in question._

_“Yeah, Spike,” Willow said brightly. “You’d think you had a dead demon or something back here, the way you act.”_

_As Buffy went around to the passenger seat, Spike tilted his head, his gaze hesitant as he looked at Willow. “Did you…?” he started to ask, waggling his fingers in the direction of the car._

_“Sure did. Oz said---.”_

_“Oz said what?” Buffy asked._

_“Nothin’,” Spike said. “Let’s go.”_

_But his grin was beaming as he caught the keys Willow tossed to him._

Every time a spell went right, Willow gained an ounce more confidence. Though she wasn’t willing to try anything _too_ experimental, there was one spell she was curious in working out that kept niggling at the back of her brain. Truth be told, it had niggled ever since Buffy had brought up the issue of Spike’s soul way back when he first returned to Sunnydale, but it wasn’t until she started to feel like she was controlling the magic instead of the other way around that Willow gave any serious consideration about it. She knew how Spike felt about the issue, and she knew just how unnecessary it really was for Buffy. There was really no need to conduct the spell.

It didn’t mean she couldn’t figure out how to do it anyway, though. It could be an intellectual exercise, rather than a practical application.

She tried to ignore the fact that part of her really, _really_ wanted to see if she could do it. The repercussions of such a spell could be amazing.

* * *

The three men stood there and just stared at the car.

“Black’s classic,” Oz finally said. “I like it.”

“But this is his chance to break out of that stereotype,” Xander argued. “Be his own vampire. Announce to the world, hey, I like color, damn it. I say it’s time for Spike to embrace his inner rainbow.”

“And I say, I don’t care if you’ve worked on t-birds before, Harris, it’s time to shove that spanner up your---.”

“Guys. Focus. The car’s not getting any younger.”

Oz’s reminder drew them back into silence.

“All I’m saying,” Xander started again, “is maybe we can think outside of the box here. Just because it was black once, doesn’t mean it has to be black again, right? What about green? Or red?”

“Because I’m not a soddin’ Christmas tree, that’s why.”

“Have you asked Buffy what color she might like?”

“Why? So she can match it to her nail polish?”

“ _Now_ you’re getting it.”

Oz glanced at Xander out of the corner of his eye. “I think he was being sarcastic.”

“Harris wouldn’t know sarcastic if it bit him on the ass.”

“And what exactly is your fascination with my ass tonight, huh, Spike? Is there something you’re not telling us?”

“You’re the one dripping with the fashion advice, mate. What’s the matter? Studs not putting out yet?”

“Leave Havi out of this.”

With a frustrated growl, Spike turned on his heel and paced away, turning back almost as quickly to return to Oz’s side. “Tell me again why I’m putting up with his mouth.”

“Because Buffy asked you to,” came the reply.

“And I s’pose you’re here because Red put in a request to see if I make nice-nice, right?”

“No, I’m pretty much here because I like the car.”

More silence.

“How about a nice baby blue?” Xander tried again.

“Where the hell did I put that gag?”

* * *

They didn’t actually spend that much of their time together talking. Xander learned quickly that Havi was a doer, not a talker, and besides, he was chatty enough for the both of them. After Cordelia and his brief foray with Anya at prom, it made for a nice change.

At first, spending time around the Summers’ house was meant to help her out. Make sure Spike kept true to his word. But the truth of the matter was that Spike was rarely there. He’d sleep during the day and as soon as he was up, he was off to see Buffy. He seemed to spend a lot of his free time at Stevenson Hall.

Part of Xander was jealous. A big part. Spike got the time with Willow and Buffy that used to be his, and it was hard to see the bloodsucker usurping his spot. It was Angel all over again, except Spike was far more persistent than the other vampire had ever been, and Xander spent a lot of time when he was with Havi complaining about that, even if she had no clue who Angel really was.

“But you’re still their friend,” she said. “If it bothers you so much, why are you here with me and not with them?”

“Because they’ve heard all my jokes,” he said with a wide grin.

She didn’t get that one. That was OK. Xander didn’t need Havi to feel uncomfortable because of his growing feelings for her. He felt uncomfortable enough for the both of them.

But she did have a point. From that moment on, Xander started being a little more proactive about spending time with the others. When Oz suggested they help Spike with the repaint of his car, Xander was there. When Giles asked for help getting information about local military operations, Xander beat Willow to the head of the line for the research. And when Buffy wanted a night out at the Bronze before she got too big to boogaloo, Xander was the one who arranged for the rest of the gang to show. He even made Havi come along.

Though he’d seen her just a few days earlier at Halloween, Xander was still surprised by how much bigger Buffy seemed already. How far along was she now? Three months? Four? She was still wearing Buffy-style clothes, but there was a little more movement in the fabric to allow for her swelling stomach. Xander couldn’t stop looking at it. Of course, it didn’t help that Spike’s hand always seemed to be splayed across the bump, drawing his attention like a magnet, like that was going to add just an smidge more protection. Stupid vampire hand.

“Come,” Havi said, pulling Xander from the stool.

“Where are we going?”

She didn’t answer. She just led him to the dance floor where a ballad was currently playing, and pressed herself into his arms.

“You were staring,” Havi murmured in explanation.

Her arms were around his neck, her words whispered directly into his ear. Xander was having a hard time trying to figure out where to put _his_ hands. He was having a hard time, period.

“Why are you jealous?” she asked.

She’d pulled back far enough to look into his eyes, and not for the first time, Xander felt the surprise at meeting a woman on eye level. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He bugs me.”

“But you don’t wish to be the father of Buffy’s baby, do you?”

The idea of him as father made him laugh out loud. “Because I’m just _dying_ for yet another reason for my own father to mock me,” he said. “That would be no.”

“Spike is grateful for the role, and his devotion to her is…surprising.”

Havi did this more often not, made an observation that was both obvious and unspoken. Xander wanted to say it was because she didn’t know the others as well as he did, but he knew that was exactly the reason she could. It brought him back to earth, every single time.

Wordlessly, they continued to dance. The beat of the music lulled him into allowing his body to press to hers, and Xander forgot for a few minutes that he was supposed to be the gentleman here. For a few minutes, he could enjoy her muscled curves as if he was a guy and not a friend.

“I would like to kiss you.”

It was an unexpected breath in his ear. A tickle down his spine. Blood straight to his already-hard cock.

“I think you would like to kiss me, too,” Havi continued. “And I think that this time, it would be right.”

Right. Over two months since that night he’d taken her to the Summers’ home and she’d tried to show her gratitude with a blow job, and not surprisingly, this train of thought was doing _nothing_ to diminish his desire for her.

So, he kissed her. And she kissed him. Right there on the dance floor. And while a small voice in the back of his head was crowing about Xander Harris getting approached by a hot, older woman---though, thankfully, not a praying mantis this time---he ignored it and just reveled in the moment.

Nobody said anything when they returned to the table. It wasn’t until Spike followed him up to the bar to get the next round of drinks that any mention of it was made at all.

“’Bout bloody time,” he said, his forearms resting on the edge of the bar as they waited for their order to come out. “Buffy’s been on my case about givin’ you a refresher course on how to tell when a bird is interested. Glad you’ve finally saved me the trouble.”

And that was that. No snide comment about his lack of manliness. No derogatory remark about Havi’s previous boyfriend.

Xander began to think that maybe he shouldn’t have waited so long to finally kiss her.

* * *

She went during the day while Spike slept. The first few times, Havi walked to the hospital, unwilling to let Xander aware of what she was doing. He wouldn’t understand.

_She_ didn’t completely understand her reasons. But…Baltozar had nobody in Sunnydale. The hospital had the witch responsible for the burns on his body listed as his emergency contact. Somebody should care. Somebody should see that he was well tended to.

As the only one who’d ever loved Baltozar, Havi decided she should be that somebody.

She didn’t interact with him when she visited. Most of the time, she just spoke with the nurse on duty to get an update on his condition, and then spent a few minutes standing in the corner of his room. Watching. Wondering what had happened to get them to this point. She still loved him, in a tiny, dark corner of her heart that she didn’t dare reveal to the Slayer or any of her friends. They wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t appreciate that it was still possible to love somebody who had caused so much hurt, even when common sense dictated it shouldn’t be. They wouldn’t get that she couldn’t just turn her feelings off like a leaky faucet.

It would hurt Xander, too. More than any of the others, he believed in Havi. She couldn’t risk tainting that. She was growing to need Xander more than she would ever have expected.

When Joyce found out about Havi’s visits, it was an accident. A coincidence of fate. Those seemed to prevail on the Hellmouth. Havi literally ran into the older woman as she was exiting the hospital, unaware that Joyce had arrived to visit someone else. She felt trapped beneath the benevolent gaze, and she tried to lie, but Joyce merely shook her head.

“You don’t have to explain anything,” she said gently. “You’re a grown woman. This is a decision you need to make on your own.”

“But it’s not what you think,” Havi protested. “I just wished…”

But she didn’t know how to voice it.

And Joyce never said a word.

* * *

For some reason, Joyce had expected life to change. These were broad strokes that had been painted. Buffy was pregnant. The father was a vampire. Said vampire was now living under Joyce’s roof, along with the odd young woman he held responsible for some unknown murder. All of these should have wound together and given her a brand new picture to call her life.

But they didn’t. Not really. Spike and Havi were getting along remarkably well, and Buffy was adjusting to the pregnancy with a graceful aplomb. Xander was spending an inordinate amount of time visiting, but Joyce thought it was sweet. He’d always been such a thoughtful young man.

Once the initial shock had worn off, Joyce found the notion of Buffy’s pregnancy more than exciting. There was going to be a baby in the house again. It pulled mother and daughter together, sitting down more than once to discuss the future. Eventually, they agreed that the winter semester would be too much for Buffy to tackle. Her due date was in April, which would not only interrupt her classes before finals but also make it difficult for Buffy to navigate campus in her later months. So they agreed that once the current semester was over, Buffy would move back home. What would happen after the baby was born was a topic tabled for a later date.

Joyce took a firm hand in Buffy’s prenatal care. She knew her daughter had a tendency to take the “I can handle it on my own” perspective when it came to her health, but on this, even Spike was in agreement.

“Little one’s goin’ to get the best,” he told both women in no uncertain terms. “And if that means you’re at that bloody doctor’s every single day, then so be it, Buffy.”

It was just a shame that Spike couldn’t tag along for the appointments. There was absolutely no cover at the clinic; it was almost as if whoever had designed the building knew about the high vampire population density and did everything in his power to safeguard the next generation of Sunnydale citizens.

The day of Buffy’s first sonogram, Joyce was surprised to find Rupert waiting for them at the clinic.

“Moral support,” he said simply.

Joyce suspected there was more to it, but Buffy’s smile of gratitude compelled her not to say anything. Together, she and Rupert waited as they took Buffy back, and when the nurse came out to say they could enter, she felt a slight trembling in her knees.

Buffy was beaming when they stepped into the room. “Look,” she said, pointing at the monitor. A small, shapeless mass was shifting at its center. “It’s Schmoo!”

Somehow, Rupert’s hand found its way to the small of Joyce’s back as they watched the attendant move the transducer over Buffy’s exposed stomach. They heard the questions Buffy kept firing off to the doctor about the baby’s health, and they each unconsciously relaxed as everything came back in the affirmative.

Life went on.

It always found a way.

* * *

In many ways, it was like starting all over again. As Buffy’s body changed, her efficacy diminished, and Giles was adamant about training on a daily basis in order to teach her the skills necessary to keep her alive. Her patrolling responsibilities were eased with Spike’s intervention, but his Slayer was still quite vocal about maintaining her presence for the local demon population. Giles was convinced that if Buffy had her way, she would be on patrol when her contractions finally commenced.

She did manage to keep her pregnancy a secret from her foes, however; he had to give her credit for that. Gone were the tight little shirts and trousers that Giles had always disparaged. Now, traditional fighting attire consisted of baggy sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. It still allowed her freedom to move, and, most of the time, even Giles could pretend that she wasn’t pregnant. But then Spike would invariably show up and spoil the moment by putting a possessive hand to Buffy’s stomach, and the spell would be shattered. Denial was a difficult thing when they were both so obviously in love with their impending child.

That love transcended the pregnancy. With every passing day, the evidence of Buffy and Spike’s feelings for each other grew. There was residual tension in the beginning, remnants of arguments to which Giles was not privy, but those dissipated over the months up until Christmas, giving way to the affectionate camaraderie he had so briefly witnessed back when William and Buffy had rescued him from Esme’s prison. Given the opportunity, they rarely left each other’s presence, eyes seeking out the other when they thought nobody was looking, stealing tiny touches when proximity allowed.

What made it even more disconcerting was Spike. Though he seemed generally the same, there were flashes of the human he had been, moments when the accent softened or a particularly astute observation was made regarding a sticky research issue. In a way, Giles felt like he was watching the relationship Buffy had developed with William evolve all over again, taking root in the remnants of the personality that remained in Spike and germinating into something new and fresh. If he wasn’t so absolutely convinced of Spike’s devotion to Buffy and the baby, he would’ve been worried.

As it was, any doubts he’d had were vanquished by the events of Thanksgiving.

* * *

The house was crowded, warm and spicy with the scents so unique to this American holiday. Joyce was busy with the meal preparations, while the younger people were recovering from their recent adventures with the resurrected Chumash tribe. Havi hovered at Xander’s side, though when exactly _their_ relationship had turned so affectionate, Giles had no idea.

The only one missing was Spike. He’d disappeared soon after the end of the fight the previous night with excuses of patrolling so that the rest of Buffy’s holiday could occur problem-free, but as of three the following afternoon, he had yet to return. Buffy’s worry grew with every passing hour, and more than once she vocalized her concern that the injuries he’d sustained jumping on the back of the bear/Indian might’ve been worse than Spike had let on. Only when Oz volunteered to go out and look around did she begin to relax.

Giles was the one who heard the van return. Stepping out onto the porch, he was about to ask Oz what he’d discovered when the younger man beat him to the punch.

“Get Xander,” Oz instructed as he climbed out of the vehicle. “Be discreet.”

The women were in the midst of setting the table, chattering blindly to the noises outside, so Giles was able to retrieve Xander and return to the van without any notice from them. One of the back doors was open, but even before they reached it, Giles had a sinking feeling he knew what was wrong. The stench of blood was almost nauseating.

“Holy shit,” Xander muttered. “And I thought I looked bad with my funny penis disease.”

He was right. Spike was a mess. Blood caked his hair and clothing, seeping through cuts too many to count. The left side of his face was swollen and bruised, and there were unmistakable burns visible through the holes in his shirt. On his left hand, two of his fingers were obviously broken, though it looked as if someone might have tried to splint those temporarily, and the entire right leg of his jeans was missing from the knee down, his calf scored with what could only be claw marks. The only good thing about Spike was that he was unconscious. At least he was unaware of his pain.

“What happened?” Giles asked, climbing in to get a closer look at the injuries. “Where did you find him?”

“At the garage where he’s been working on his car.”

“Don’t tell me he did it,” Xander said. “I _told_ him it was suicide. Stupid vamp is going to get Buffy pissed at _all_ of us now.”

“Did what?” Frowning, Giles’ gaze swiveled between the two young men. “What exactly are you holding back, Xander?”

“There were these guys---.”

“Demons,” Oz corrected.

“Demons,” Xander amended. “Spike was buying spare parts from them for his car---.”

“Buying? I was under the impression he still hadn’t found work.”

“He hasn’t. These guys trade in kittens, if you can believe it. And you _don’t_ want to ask how he gets those.”

Giles sighed, shaking his head as he looked down at the unconscious vampire. “Go on.”

“Well, last week, we went down to pick up the paint, and we were standing around arguing about the color---.”

“Again,” Oz said.

“---and we heard these demons talking in the corner of the shop. About Buffy. And about how they’d heard these rumors about her being off her game on account of being pregnant.”

“Oh, dear lord.”

“Exactly. But there was at least a dozen of them, and only three of us, and we didn’t even have any weapons---.”

“Don’t forget the horns. Whoever coined the phrase ‘horny little devil’ was probably thinking of these guys,” Oz added.

“Except not so little,” Xander said. “Anyway, Spike wanted to take them on then but we managed to talk him down from it.”

“It appears he changed his mind,” Giles murmured.

None of them heard the approaching footsteps until it was too late.

“Did we decide to have Thanksgiving dinner out in the car?” Buffy chirped. Then, her gaze fell on Spike, and her sharp intake of breath cut through her good mood.

“Get him inside,” she ordered, hopping into the van. She worked faster than Giles would’ve expected, grabbing a blanket from the floor beside Spike to drape it over his body. “We’re going to need more of these. Xander, go inside and get something else to cover him. Oz, go ask Willow to get out the first aid kit. Tell her we’re going to need stuff for suturing, too.” When they didn’t move quickly enough for her, she barked, “Now!”

She worked with the brisk efficiency he’d taught her, all the while muttering under her breath about headstrong vampires. Giles helped as best he could without getting in her way.

“I don’t suppose you know what happened,” she commented.

“Not exactly. Something about a group of demons who suspected you’re pregnant. It would appear he tried to get rid of them in order to protect you.”

“Of course, he did, the big dope.” Her fingers brushed over his unbruised cheek. “One of these days, he’s going to get himself dusted.”

The ache in her voice was impossible to miss, and Giles was relieved when the others arrived with the necessary items to move Spike safely to the house. He said nothing when the vampire regained consciousness, though he noted how easily he avoided answering Buffy’s direct questions about what he’d done.

“It’s taken care of,” was all Spike would say. “There’s nothin’ for you to fuss over.”

Afterwards, when most everyone was clearing up after dinner, Giles watched as Buffy helped Spike get downstairs to the basement. Though Spike was the injured party, each leaned against the other, shoring weight that wasn’t only theirs. Her soft murmurs were followed by the gentle cadences of his as they whispered back and forth until they were both gone from Giles’ view.

It was probably the most intimate thing he’d ever witnessed between the pair.

It drove away the last of his reservations about the depth of Spike’s feelings for the Slayer. And of hers for him.

* * *

Buffy glanced at the clock for the seventh time in the past five minutes. Almost done. Finally. This would the last time she’d meet with Robin this semester, and while she didn’t exactly hate the tutoring sessions, she’d long ago stopped wondering why she needed them. Her grades weren’t stellar, but they weren’t of the suck, either. In the end, Buffy fully expected to pull a solid B which should’ve hardly merited such intense studying. Professor Walsh, however, had different ideas.

“Earth to Buffy, earth to Buffy. Come _in_ , Buffy.”

She jumped at the soft sound of his voice, looking guiltily away from the clock to see Robin smiling quizzically across at her. “Sorry,” she said. “What were you saying?”

“I was saying, I think you’ve done great work this semester,” he said. She liked his voice. He had a way about him that was very soothing; it was one reason why she hadn’t protested that much when Professor Walsh insisted she continue with the tutoring. “Especially considering what kind of…distractions you’ve had.”

Automatically, Buffy’s hand went to her stomach. It was impossible to hide the pregnancy any longer, though Robin had never mentioned it before. “It’s been OK,” she said. “Believe it or not, I had worse times when I was in high school.”

He nodded in understanding. “Not that it’s any of my business,” he said, “but I’d like to think we’ve gotten to be friends this term, Buffy. And I want you to know that what I’m about to say is just because I like you.”

She laughed. “OK, now you’re starting to make me nervous.”

“Oh, it’s not that bad. I just hope that you told the father of your baby where he could go. Any man who could just abandon---.”

“Wait. What makes you think he’s not around?”

Robin hesitated, a slight frown between his eyes. “Well, we’ve been meeting how long now? And I’ve never once heard you talk about having a boyfriend, or seen you meet up with anybody after class. I just assumed---.”

“You assumed wrong,” Buffy said. “William hasn’t gone anywhere. In fact, he’s probably more excited about this baby than I am. I’m just not big on making my private life all that public, you know? It’s nobody’s business but my own.”

She didn’t know why she was bothering to explain all this, but she kind of liked Robin. He deserved an explanation.

“I’m sorry,” he was saying, embarrassed. “I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have pried.”

“No, really, it’s OK. You’re a nice guy who just can’t imagine other guys not being quite so nice. It’s understandable. But, honestly, William’s completely onboard when it comes to Schmoo. He even---.”

His frown was back. “Schmoo?” Robin queried carefully. “I…hope that’s not the name you’ve picked out.”

The flush heated her cheeks. “Pet name. Until it’s born. Because Spike has this weird thing about wanting to be surprised by the sex, which I totally don’t get because it would make shopping _so_ much easier---.”

“OK, I’m lost. Who’s Spike?”

“Oh. Spike’s William. Or William’s Spike.” Buffy chewed at her lower lip. “I’m still trying to sort that one out.”

Chuckling, Robin leaned back in his chair. “I think I should just bow out of this conversation as gracefully as I can and say, why don’t we cut this early, Buffy? You don’t need me any more before the final, and considering how many times you looked at the clock this session, you’re probably dying to get someplace that isn’t here. I’m glad you’ve got someone to help look out for you and the baby. Too many young women in your circumstances don’t.”

Gratefully, Buffy rose from her seat, grabbing her book and notepad from the desk. “Yeah, I’m pretty darn lucky.” Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she headed to the door, shooting him a smile when she reached it. “See you at the final.”

* * *

He felt stupid. Considering all the education he’d had, considering how much he thought he’d gotten to know Buffy Summers over the past semester, Robin felt like an outright fool for believing she would get herself pregnant in a casual relationship. She wasn’t a stupid girl, his first impressions notwithstanding. And, contrary to his mother’s situation, she had a strong support group surrounding her to help shoulder the burden of being the Chosen One. It was ridiculous to think that she would’ve let herself get into a situation where she would become the victim.

That wasn’t the kind of slayer Buffy Summers was.

Maggie wasn’t happy about his lack of progress in getting to know Buffy on a more intimate level. More than once, she’d drilled him on what exactly she was trying to accomplish, how important it was that she get Buffy Summers on her side. Frankly, Robin didn’t understand why she didn’t just come out and be truthful with the Slayer. They were on the same side, after all. But that wasn’t Maggie’s way. That would’ve meant giving up too much control, leaving too much to chance, for Maggie’s tastes.

Still, Robin was satisfied that he’d grown to be a good enough friend to casually arrange to see Buffy outside of campus the next semester. She wasn’t going to be attending classes, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to be around. Willow would still be here, and if Robin had learned anything, it was that whither Willow goest, Buffy went to.

Locking the office door behind him, Robin contemplated their last conversation. He didn’t like leaving things the way they had. Maybe he could start the whole plan of seeing Buffy outside of tutoring now, since their sessions were over. It would definitely make Maggie happy.

Yeah. That sounded like a plan.

He practiced his speech all the way to Stevenson Hall. Way back in the beginning of the semester, he’d taken one of Buffy’s books, for use as an excuse to see her if the occasion ever arose. He never had, and the ironic thing was, Buffy had never noticed that she was missing it. It took only a few minutes to fetch it from the office; now was as good a time as any to return it.

He had the book in hand when he knocked at her dorm room door. It opened to reveal a surprised Willow on the other side.

“Robin!” she said. “Hi! What’s up?”

“I’m looking for Buffy actually.” He held out the book. “She left this and since it’s our last tutoring session, I figured I’d give it back to her now.”

“Oh, thanks.”

She took it away from him, stepping back to set it on the desk. Robin took the opportunity to follow her a few feet into the room, and it was only then that he saw the very pale man lounging on the bed in the corner.

“Oh,” Willow said when she noticed where he was looking. “That’s Spike, Buffy’s boyfriend. Spike, this is Robin Wood, our psych TA.”

The man rose from the bed with the grace of a wildcat, but even as Robin thought of him as such, he knew the truth. This was a vampire. Everything about Spike screamed, “Notice me!”, from the top of his bleach-tipped hair to the bottom of his black boots, but it was the long leather jacket that swirled like liquid night around his legs that captured Robin’s attention.

“So you’re the one makin’ sure that psych prof stays off Buffy’s back,” he commented. “S’pose I should be givin’ you some thanks.”

The accent made Robin’s skin crawl. It was too much of a coincidence. It had to be.

Though…why would a vampire slayer allow a vampire to hang around in her dorm room? And why would Willow, the most do-gooder, overachieving student Robin had ever seen, tell him that it was Buffy’s boyfriend if it wasn’t true?

“Buffy’s a smart girl,” Robin answered automatically. He hoped his shock didn’t show in his face. “All I did was guide her way.”

“Buffy’s not actually back yet,” Willow said. “Though, that’s probably obvious since she’s not in the room.”

“That’s OK.” He began to back up, suddenly desperate to get as much space between him and this Spike as he could. “Just let her know I brought it back.” He was halfway out the door when he changed his mind and took the risk.

“By the way, Spike, like your coat,” he said, meeting the vampire’s eyes for the first time. “I don’t suppose you could tell me where I could pick one up like it. I’m still trying to figure Sunnydale shopping out.”

Spike shook his head, squaring his shoulders proudly. “Can’t. It’s one of a kind. Got it in New York a few years back. Kind of a…souvenir, you could say.”

“Ah, well, my loss then.”

Though he was smiling when they finally closed the door on him, inside Robin, a small boy was screaming. One whose mother had been brutally killed by a vampire he’d never been able to find.

The one who now wore her coat like some sick badge of honor.

He felt sick to his stomach. It was a good thing he was done for the day. He was going to be useless until he sorted out this new surge of rage.


	35. Of the Seasons Have I Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CIV.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Life goes on for the Scooby gang, but while Spike and Havi are a bit more integrated into the group by the time Christmas comes around, they’re unaware of some of the darker leanings in Sunnydale, especially now that Robin knows Spike is the one who killed his mother…

This late in the semester, Maggie didn’t want to waste her valuable time staring at students take tests, so Robin was the lucky one who got to sit in to proctor the finals. Though he had a stack of other tests he was grading for the professor, the work was mostly a smokescreen as he watched the students scribble away at their papers.

He watched Buffy most of all.

Though part of him was grateful that he hadn’t had any more tutoring sessions with her, Robin still wished he could’ve found the opportunity to talk to her about her so-called boyfriend. He’d done a little digging around, but he couldn’t even find out the guy’s last name, let alone anything personal about him. It didn’t shake Robin’s belief about his identity, however. After what Spike had admitted about the coat’s origins, there was no way he wasn’t the same vampire that had murdered Nikki Wood. How he’d ended up in Sunnydale remained a mystery.

The other unknown was the paternity of Buffy’s baby. She’d made it sound like her boyfriend---Spike---was the father. But vampires were incapable of having children, so that was impossible. Why, then, was this vampire taking on the surrogate role?

More importantly, how could Buffy trust such a dangerous vampire in the first place?

Robin had only one answer to that. She didn’t know what a threat he really was.

When he called time for the test, he watched as she gathered together her belongings, chatting amiably with Willow and Oz as they took their time coming up to the desk. “Not too hard, I hope,” Robin commented when she dropped her paper onto the stack.

“Any time I don’t know an answer, it’s too hard,” Buffy replied with a smile.

“Oh, I like hard,” Willow bubbled. “Because then, when you do well, you know you deserved it.”

“We’ve got her in therapy about that,” Buffy said. “Obviously, we’re not getting our money’s worth.”

Robin laughed, but his gaze was wary. “Listen, Buffy,” he said, lowering his voice for just a bit more privacy. “Can you stick around for a few minutes? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Is it important?”

“Well---.”

“’Cause I’m supposed to meet my mom and Spike over at the mall,” she rushed on, oblivious to the fact that he’d tried to answer her question in the affirmative. “Would you believe it, but he _still_ hasn’t done his Christmas shopping?”

Willow poked Buffy in the side. “Neither have you,” she reminded playfully.

“Been a little busy, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She turned an apologetic smile back to Robin. “Can I get a raincheck? It’s just…” She moved out of the way when other students filed past her, waiting until it was a bit more private before continuing. “This is our first Christmas together,” she continued when it was just the four of them. “And Spike’s completely freaking out over the gift thing---.”

“I would’ve called it mild desperation,” Oz commented. “With maybe a tinge of hysteria.”

“Either way,” she went on, “Spike’s feeling way out of control, which is a huge thing for him, and I know you don’t know him, but---.”

“Oh, I know him.”

The solemnity of his tone was completely lost on her. “That’s right, I forgot you met him when you dropped off the book.” She shook her head, laughing. “I swear, this baby has completely fried my memory. Maybe you shouldn’t grade that test after all.”

“Buffy---.”

“So, raincheck, right?” She didn’t even wait for a response. She was moving, along with her friends, for the door, shooting him a warm smile over her shoulder. “Have a good Christmas!”

The lecture hall seemed cavernous on her exit, leaving Robin to stare at the door with a frustrated frown as it slid shut. Maybe it didn’t matter what he knew; he had a feeling Buffy wouldn’t listen to anything negative about the vampire she so casually called her boyfriend anyway. It was obvious her feelings were blinding her to the truth. Spike was a killer. A slayer of Slayers. An abomination who shouldn’t be walking the earth when women like his mother were cheated of just a few more years because of his kind.

Because of him.

Bile rose in the back of his throat, but he swallowed it back down. It was pointless to let his anger get the better of him at this point. If he couldn’t get to Buffy, then maybe her best friend could. He just had to believe that Buffy would do the right thing, once she knew the whole story.

Then, his pain would be eased.

Somewhat.

* * *

He was in a foul mood, and, unfortunately, Joyce got the brunt of it while they waited for Buffy to show. Nothing was good enough for Spike today. Kids running through the mall were too loud, the piped-in Christmas music was a “load of rubbish,” and if he heard one more bell from a dressed-up Santa looking for charity donations, Joyce was sure Spike was going to snap. 

Currently, he was glaring at the menu options of the Starbucks, and she was desperately trying to figure out how she was going to deny buying him anything with caffeine in it. She didn’t need him hyped up even further; there would be no telling what he might do in his bad temper then.

Thankfully, Spike ended up passing on anything to drink, but insisted on carrying her cappuccino to one of the tables outside the shop to wait for Buffy. Once they were seated, she took a deep breath.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” she said evenly. “Or do I just have to put up with Oscar the Grouch all night?”

“Nothin’s wrong,” he bit out. The plastic spoon he was playing with snapped between his fingers.

“And your grudge with the coffee stirrer is personal. I see.”

She let it rest at that, knowing the slight goad would be enough for---.

“It’s like this…”

Joyce refrained from smiling at Spike’s sudden decision to share.

“Things between me and Buffy…they’ve been goin’ pretty good, yeah? I mean, there’s still the whole issue of what’s goin’ to happen when she moves back into the house this weekend, and then Rupert’s still bein’ a right git half the time, and I don’t even want to get into the patrolling fights Buffy and I---.”

“Every couple has their problems, Spike.”

“Right. That’s what I’m sayin’.” He ran his fingers through his hair. The bleach was only in the very tips now, and it was the longest Joyce had ever seen it. It was hard not to make the suggestion that maybe he should cut it; she knew she sounded enough like a mom more than half the time already.

“But this…” Spike gestured to the various decorations that adorned the mall. “…this isn’t a bridge we’ve crossed yet. And the way Buffy talks, she’s got these high hopes ‘bout what she wants.”

“And you’re worried you’re going to let her down somehow,” Joyce finished.

His head ducked in embarrassment. “No, I _know_ I’m goin’ to let her down,” Spike said. “I haven’t celebrated Christmas proper since I was turned. And the New Year? Forget it. Dru and Angelus’ idea of bringin’ in the New Year usually involved a couple of virgins and a sharp---.” He cut himself with a grimace. “Bollocks. See? It’s not right. That’s not what Buffy’s goin’ to be wanting.”

She took a moment before answering. He wasn’t going to like what she was about to say.

“Buffy’s already got what she wants,” she said. “She has you. I think you’re over-reacting with this, Spike.”

His scowl deepened, and he pushed away from the table to slouch in his chair. “Women,” he muttered. “All the bloody same.”

Knowing now that this was probably the same argument he’d had with Buffy, Joyce decided to press on. “She told you about last Christmas, didn’t she?”

His perpetual glower was the only answer she needed.

“I know how hard you’ve been trying,” she said. “And I know you want everything to be perfect for Buffy and the baby, but, Spike…that’s not life. Bad things happen. People make mistakes. It’s to be expected.”

“See, now, that’s where you’re wrong. I make a mistake, and that’s it for me. I don’t get another shot. I get dusted.”

“What? Why on earth would you say that?”

“It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Spike rolled his shoulders, as if the tension in them was suddenly unbearable. “You think I forget for a second that I’m a vampire? None of the rest of the lot do.”

“That’s not true.”

“No offense, Joyce, but you don’t see ‘em like I do. Now, yeah, Red and Oz are pretty OK with it, since they have to deal with the wolf thing every month. But the rest of them are just looking for an excuse to get me out of the picture. Have you seen the jobs Rupert keeps throwing my way?” He shook his head. “He’s just dyin’ for me to get in over my head one of these times so he can give Buffy his ‘I told you so.’ Or better, get rid of me once and for all.”

She knew that wasn’t true. Because of the odd circumstances, Joyce and Rupert had been meeting more often, discussing how best to help Buffy. She knew that his respect for Spike was growing every day. But she also knew that Spike wouldn’t believe it if she told him so.

“Maybe it’s because he trusts your abilities,” she offered instead. “You’re nearly as strong as Buffy. It makes sense to me that he’d use his strongest fighter to do what Buffy can’t these days.”

He startled her by pushing back in his chair, rising to his feet and shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. “I can’t do this today,” he said, unable to meet her eyes. “Tell Buffy…tell Buffy I’ll see her at the house later. I’m too wound up to be around her right now.”

The tread of his boots was heavy as he disappeared into the crowd, his coat whipping around his legs as he unceremoniously pushed a teenaged boy out of his path. Joyce sighed. Buffy wasn’t going to be happy about this.

* * *

Buffy was pissed beyond belief. 

“He just _left_?” she demanded. Oz and Willow hovered behind her, and she knew her voice was carrying to the other Starbucks customers, but frankly, she didn’t care. “Christmas is in a week. When is he thinking this is going to get done? On spring break?”

“He really wasn’t in a mood for shopping, honey,” her mother tried to soothe. “And I’m sure he’ll find time to get it done later. Sit down. Relax. It’s not that big of a deal.”

But it _was_ a big deal. This was their first Christmas together, and no matter what Buffy said or did, it felt like Spike was fighting it. She asked him to come help pick out the Christmas tree; he conveniently got covered in green slime on patrol. She left a book of English Christmas traditions on his bed for him to show her what he wanted, and somehow, the book got lost. He wouldn’t even give her a wish list for what he’d like for gifts. How was she supposed to make it a good holiday for them if he wouldn’t cooperate?

“Maybe it’s better this way,” Willow said, slipping into the chair next to her. “Now we can buy Spike’s gifts without worrying about him seeing them.”

Her head whipped around. “You know what you’re getting him?”

“Yeah. Don’t…” Willow looked suddenly stricken. “…you?”

With a defeated sigh, Buffy slumped in her seat. The sight of her growing tummy almost made it worse. She felt so _fat_. “Christmas sucks,” she mumbled, absently smoothing her top over her stomach.

“Not that I think you’re in any mind to be hearing from the mom monster,” Joyce said, “but I think both you and Spike are blowing this way out of proportion.”

Buffy shook her head. “Impossible. Because Spike would have to be showing an ounce of interest for there even to _be_ a proportion. He’s proportion-less. He’s…negative proportion. He’s…god, why isn’t he here?”

“I can go check on him, if you like,” Oz offered.

“No. Thanks, but that’ll just make it worse. He’ll think I’m being all over-everything then.”

“Well…you kind of are.” Willow cringed when Buffy shot her another glare of death, but kept on going. “I mean, maybe he just doesn’t understand how much this means to you. Have you talked to him about it?”

Buffy nodded. “I even had lists,” she said. “And references. But he won’t listen to me, which I totally don’t get. I told him what happened last year. He should…what?”

She stopped when she saw the looks on everyone’s faces, confused as to what they were thinking.

“You brought up _Angel_?” Willow asked carefully. “And you don’t think that maybe that might have…I don’t know… _bugged_ Spike?”

Buffy waved her hand in dismissal. “That’s stupid. Spike’s not threatened by Angel. He knows that what we had is long over.”

Their silence was damning.

“You don’t seriously think this is about _Angel_ , do you?” she asked the trio incredulously.

“Yeah,” Willow admitted.

“And maybe a little William, too,” her mom suggested.

Her eyes went wide. “That’s ridiculous! Spike _is_ William. I thought that was pretty clear by now. He wouldn’t be jealous of himself. Not even Spike is _that_ narcissistic.”

“Spike doesn’t see it the same way you do, honey. He’s living with this ghost, just as much as you are, and I know you _want_ to believe that he’s exactly the same, but he’s not. And no matter how many times you dress him up like he used to, it’s not going to change the fact that he’s different now.”

“I did that _once_ ,” Buffy groused. “And it was Halloween. I wore that stupid old-fashioned dress, didn’t I? We looked cute together.”

“You did,” Willow said. “But maybe your mom’s right. Maybe you should stop trying to focus this holiday on the past, and start focusing it on the future.” All of a sudden, she brightened and leapt to her feet. “Oh! And I just got the perfect idea for a gift for Spike. Come on. I think I know exactly where we can get it.”

She resisted only slightly as Willow tugged her to a stand. She’d never considered that Spike would still have residual jealousy of Angel. Hadn’t everything they’d been through at this point proved to him yet that Angel was the past? What was she going to have to do to convince him he was her future?

* * *

With blood trickling from his knuckles, Spike leaned against the hood of the Thunderbird, sucking at the torn skin on his fingers. The wind was chilly for California, and the icy moon that gleamed down from above should’ve been a reminder of more halcyon days, but for whatever reason, it left him cold, wondering just what in hell he was trying to prove by running away from the day’s plans with Buffy and her mum.

He hadn’t thought. He’d just fled on instinct, unwilling and unwanting to have to go through the torture of more Christmas planning, listening to Buffy prattle on about traditions he knew nothing about and affirmations on how this year was going to be different than the previous and somehow that was all going to be because of Spike. She’d turned him into the second coming of the Yuletide Fairy, and the worst of it was she didn’t even realize she’d done it.

It scared him. Things had grown into something so much more than Spike had expected that he’d been on cloud nine ever since the incident at Thanksgiving. Buffy still wasn’t aware of all the details of what had happened---what still happened on almost a nightly basis---but Spike didn’t care. She had enough on her plate to be worrying about with the baby, and her classes, and the mysterious military guys that they _still_ knew next to nothing about. She didn’t need to know how much the demon community actually knew about her pregnancy.

It had started with the guys at the garage at Thanksgiving. Spike had taken care they wouldn’t be making things any worse, but the rumors steadily grew, and it was taking his and Oz’s combined efforts to keep them at bay. And it wasn’t that Spike was fussed about having to do the extra work to protect Buffy. In fact, knowing he was having such an active role in safeguarding her and the little one had just combined with Buffy’s growing demonstrativeness regarding their relationship to make the past month more than he’d ever expected. But…

Buffy didn’t know about the added fights. Or the fact that Oz was going out patrolling with him when Spike was supposed to be doing something else. Or the deals he was making with factions of the demon community to help hold back the worst of it. Although he wasn’t ashamed of what he was doing, Spike suspected that she might not agree with all of it. After all, she was still coming to grips with the idea that not every demon might be out for merely the mayhem. But there was still the risk of it all being shattered with one wrong step. If he were to err in some fashion with this Christmas rubbish, Spike feared that it might be enough for him to lose what unbelievable ground he’d made with her.

He loved Buffy.

He didn’t want to fail her.

Spike rubbed wearily at his face. He was dying for a fag, but he’d ground out his last on the demon he’d left burning behind Willy’s. He’d briefly considered stopping and picking some more up, but his cash was dangerously low at the moment, and with Buffy’s Christmas gift still to be purchased, he didn’t want to squander what little resources he had. That would only make a bad situation even worse.

He grimaced when he saw the headlights of the car turn into the street. Bugger. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with Harris’ state of perpetual bliss lately, or witness Havi’s unspoken pride in the new relationship she was forging with the younger man. It was enough to make a vampire heave. However, Buffy waited for him inside the house. She was going to be pissed about his taking a runner, and he really wasn’t in the mood to have to face off with her, either.

In the end, the choice wasn’t really all that hard to make.

Buffy would always come out on top.

* * *

He saw Spike heading up for the house, but didn’t say anything to Havi about it as he glided to a stop in front of the Summers’ home. It was easier to tolerate Spike these days, and, other than the occasional snide comment or sideways glance to Havi, he’d been playing nice enough to warrant the same measure of respect back. But that didn’t mean Xander sought him out, and after hearing what had happened at the mall earlier, he certainly wasn’t going to get into the middle of that kind of domestic dispute. It just wasn’t worth the headache.

Havi seemed to sense his reluctance to get out of the car. “It’s been a long day,” she said, reaching across to lightly touch his thigh. “You should go home and rest.”

“Gee, choose between listening to my parents fight, or Buffy and Spike taking a go at each other?” He pretended to seriously consider it, taking a moment longer than he thought would to reply. “This is actually a harder decision than I thought it would be.”

“You do not have to go alone, if you don’t wish to.”

Xander’s gaze jerked from where he’d been regarding the house to meet Havi’s solemn eyes. “What did you say?” he asked.

Carefully, Havi released her seat belt and leaned closer to him, navigating around the gear stick and hand brake as best she could. “I suggested that perhaps you would like some company tonight,” she said. The fingers on his thigh began to slide upward, finding the rigid outline of his cock as it strained inside his pants. “Do you want me?”

It wasn’t the same as the first time she’d touched him in such an intimate manner. There was a delicacy to the way Havi stroked the length of his erection beneath the cotton fabric, as if she was enjoying it as much as he was. Xander wasn’t sure if that could be possible, though. If she kept it up, he was going to come inside his pants, and the night would be over before it really began.

“Is this my Christmas present?” he joked, trying to ease the heaviness of the atmosphere.

“Do you wish it to be?”

“You’ve really got to stop using that word on the Hellmouth. Making wishes is dangerous in this neck of the woods.”

Ignoring his attempts at levity, Havi bowed even further against him, her firm breast pressing into his arm while her mouth trailed along his jaw. A race of goosebumps trailed down his neck, onto his spine, and his eyes fluttered closed as he sank into the sensations.

“Do you think me forward?” she murmured into his ear.

“Honestly, I think of you forward, backward, and bent over the hood of the car,” Xander replied.

He felt her smile against his cheek. “So…is that the answer to my question?”

“Do I remember which question you’re referring to?”

Her strong hand curled around his cock, and Xander thrust involuntarily upward into her grip. “I have no qualms about doing it here,” Havi breathed. “But I think we would be more comfortable back at your house.”

With his mouth suddenly dry, all Xander could do was nod. He turned his head enough to take her mouth in a searing kiss, his fingers brushing against her hardened nipples, and thrilled at the shudder of enjoyment that rippled through Havi’s body at his touch. All thoughts of Buffy and Spike vanished from his mind. They were grown-ups; they could sort out their own issues.

It was time for him to concentrate on his own life.

* * *

Robin watched the house from a distance. Behind the curtains, he could see the outlines of various people moving around, but how many were actually inside, he had no idea. Willow, definitely, and the older man she’d arrived with an hour earlier, but there appeared to be more inside. A tiny female figure and another tall male. Who they were, though, remained a mystery.

He’d merely meant to corner Willow and tell her what he knew about Spike. She seemed the best one to be able to get through to Buffy, and if she knew the whole story, Robin was convinced it would only be a matter of time before Spike was history. But he’d arrived at her dorm to see someone else waiting for her, someone he heard her refer to as Giles. Together, the pair had gotten into a battered Citroen, and Robin had been too curious not to follow. He’d just never expected to end up outside of Sunnydale.

When the first hour began to stretch into two, he realized the pointlessness of what he was doing. He couldn’t hear what was going on inside the house, and he wasn’t even close enough to hear them talking when they finally left. Sitting around watching it wasn’t going to tell him anything. He’d just have to see what came up when he did a search on the address.

The idea came to him on his way back into town, but Robin waited until he was at his apartment before acting on it. He found the number he was looking for with relative ease and dialed it almost as quickly. When the answering service clicked in, his gaze jumped to the clock on the wall, mentally calculating the time difference. Damn it. It was too early for anyone to be available; he should’ve known that before making the call.

He decided to leave a message anyway.

“Yes, this is Robin Wood. I’m trying to reach Quentin Travers. It’s in regards to some questions I have about the Slayer.” After rattling off his phone number, he returned the phone to the receiver and sighed.

Now, it was just a waiting game. He just had to hope that he’d been a good enough boy this year to merit quick replies for Christmas.


	36. See Thy Blood Warm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet II.” Spike’s poem was written by Uisge Beatha, who kindly allowed me to borrow it for the purposes of this fic.  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Robin attempted to talk to Buffy about Spike but failed, and ended up turning to Travers for aid, while Buffy and Spike are having misunderstandings about the upcoming holiday season…

Buffy waited a full ten minutes after hearing Spike descend to the basement before following him down the stairs. “Give him some space,” her mom had said. “If he thinks you’re pushing, he’s either going to run away or push back, and you don’t really want either one to happen, now do you?”

The answer to that was a resounding “no,” but it just about killed her to stay in her room for so long when she knew he was only two stories beneath her. All she wanted was to go down and demand to know why he could think she’d think any less of him if Christmas wasn’t perfect, but everyone had been in agreement that that would be bad. Even Oz had bothered to comment on it.

“It would be like setting off firecrackers in the middle of a nunnery,” he’d said. “Loud, chaotic, and pretty much a terrible idea.”

So, she waited. And she hated every second of it.

Hesitating at the basement door, Buffy took a deep breath before pushing it open. “Spike?” she called out as she went down the stairs. “Are you still up?”

“Yeah,” came the tired response.

He was standing in front of the open washing machine, tossing in the t-shirt he’d worn that day. The corded muscles of his back were tense, and there was a mass of fresh bruising along his left shoulder blade. Automatically, Buffy set aside the envelope she’d been carrying and rushed to his dresser to grab the first aid kit he kept there.

“You didn’t have to patrol tonight,” she said, and cringed when her tone came across as angrier than she wanted. “Giles said he had everything taken care of so that we could get our Christmas shopping done.”

“If this is the part of your lecture where you tell me I’m treating you like a child for takin’ on some of the patrolling,” Spike said, “save it. I’m not in the mood.”

“You don’t seem to be in the mood for much of anything today.”

He slammed the washing machine shut, metallic ringing filling the close air, and whirled to face Buffy. There were more bruises covering his face, and a shallow cut over his left brow had already started healing. But it was the fire that blazed in the blue depths of his eyes that stopped Buffy in her tracks.

“I’m only goin’ to say this once,” he said. His voice was tight, his body coiled even tighter. “Maybe I should’ve said it to you sooner. I dunno. Your mum seems to think so. But tryin’ to get through to you lately---.”

“Don’t be turning this around on me, Spike,” she interrupted. “I’ve been wide open---.”

“And there you go, cutting me off again.” Long fingers ran through his hair, pulling at the loose curls in disgust as he bowed his head. He was practically vibrating from the force of his self-control. “Will you just shut the hell up for two seconds so that I can say my piece?”

She didn’t reply. Somehow, she knew if she did, it would only make things worse.

Spike took a long, unneeded breath before lifting his gaze to her again. “You know I’d rather be dust than let anything happen to you or the little one,” he said. “Ask me to step in front of the stake, and I’ll do it, no questions asked. But I’m not perfect, and I can’t fix every little thing that’s gone wrong in your life. I’d love to, but I can’t. I fuck up, Buffy. It surprises the hell out of me that I haven’t done something Rupert would consider stake-worthy yet, and we won’t even get into Harris. So this Christmas business…I know you want it to be just so. You’ve got these notions that this is goin’ to be the best holiday season ever, but you know what? You don’t have to be tryin’ so hard to make it that way. Any Christmas where you’re safe and sound is the best one, as far I’m concerned. You don’t need me pickin’ out crackers and tellin’ your mum how to make Christmas pudding in order for me to be happy about it. Wake up Christmas mornin’ with a smile, and I’ll be just right as rain. And the sooner you understand that, the happier all of us are goin’ to be.”

The speech shocked her into silence. It just wasn’t Spike’s style. Even when it was just the two of them, and their conversations meandered in directions reminiscent of her time with William, it was very much a give and take, each of them offering their thoughts and opinions in discussions that were as much about them as individuals as they were about them as a couple.

So hearing him go on in probably the longest directed announcement she’d ever heard him make was fairly stunning. Especially when some of it mirrored just what her mom and Willow had been telling her at the mall.

“I don’t expect perfection, Spike,” she said carefully.

He shook his head. The fight seemed to have gone out of him. “Yes, you do, luv. It’s just that most of the time, the only one you demand it of is yourself.”

“You don’t really think that’s what I want from you, though…do you?”

“I think…you’d prefer I keep the ripples in the pond to a minimum,” he replied. “Angel made your life a right mess, and it makes sense that you’d like to stay away from that for as long as you could. Now, I know that I’ve done the same---.”

“You haven’t.”

His brows shot up in disbelief. “Since when does gettin’ the Slayer pregnant not bugger up her life?”

“Since the Slayer is thrilled that she gets to give something back to the man she loves,” Buffy shot back. His attitude was starting to piss her off. She’d thought they were past all this.

“I know I’ve been a little weird about Christmas,” she continued, rushing on before Spike could speak and potentially turn their little spat into a full-fledged fight. “And I’m…sorry if I was being unfair. That’s why I want to make it up to you.”

Setting down the first aid kit, Buffy walked back to where she’d dropped the envelope and picked it up, thrusting it toward Spike until he took it from her hands.

“What’s this?” he asked.

She licked her lips nervously, watching as he broke the seal. “Your Christmas gift. From me. And Mom. And Willow and Oz, too, because, well, I didn’t have enough money to get it all on my own.”

Her heart was pounding inside her chest when he unfolded the bright yellow flyer for the punk revival that was happening in LA over the Christmas holidays. She’d had to beg the music shop guy to give her a copy, and even then, it wasn’t until Oz stepped in and started with the musician-speak that the guy acquiesced. It wasn’t what Willow had dragged her away from Starbucks for, but when they’d passed the shop and she’d seen the announcement in the window, all of her friend’s warnings about what Buffy was doing to Spike had seemed to sharpen. All of a sudden, Buffy knew that this was the perfect way for her to show Spike that she did understand, that she did just want the best for him. She was giving him his freedom for Christmas, a chance to have something just for himself. She was giving him---.

“You don’t want me around for Christmas now?”

He was staring at her with alarmed incredulity, his ill temper visibly returning if the whitening of his knuckles around the paper and the money it contained was any indication.

“What?” Buffy said, confused. “No, that’s not what it is.”

Spike waved the flyer in her face. “I can’t believe you want to ship me off to LA so that I don’t muck up your holiday,” he said.

“I don’t!”

“Then how do you explain the hotel reservation? And the spending money?” He threw the cash at her, but she didn’t catch it, letting it flutter to the floor as she watched him begin pacing the length of the room. “Don’t need your bloody charity, Slayer. You want me to toddle off so that I don’t grinch you and your little mates’ holiday, all you had to do was say the word. Be more than glad to be rid of the bunch of you right about now.”

“Why do you always have to assume the worst?” Buffy demanded. “Did I once say I didn’t want you around?” She didn’t wait for a reply, answering her own question in the very next breath. “No, I didn’t. I want this to be as good a Christmas for you, too, which is why I thought getting you tickets to this punk thing was such a great idea.”

“Which just happens to be in LA,” Spike retorted. “Convenient for gettin’ rid of me, don’t you think? Or should I be takin’ the hint since that’s where Peaches took himself off---.”

Her fist slamming into his jaw cut him off, and her eyes were blazing when he turned to look at her.

“How _dare_ you,” Buffy said, her voice low and pained. “Haven’t I made my choice perfectly clear to you yet? Angel and I are _over_. We were over before I woke up in jolly olde England because I’d already fallen in love with you---.”

“You fell in love with William.”

“Who is a part of _you_.” Stooping to pick up the flyer, she jabbed a finger at the hotel information she’d written on the bottom of it. “Did you even stop to notice that this is _my_ Christmas gift, too? It’s a suite, see? Not some rinky-dink twin room for one. A bed built for two. I wanted to be a part of something that _you_ care for, because I’m pretty sure the idea of punk would’ve completely wigged William out. But, obviously, that doesn’t matter to you. My bad for actually giving a damn.”

Getting down on her hands and knees, she began picking up the money, her eyes stinging with angry tears. She couldn’t look at him any more. How could he think that she would just get rid of him like that? What did she have to do to prove to him how much she loved him?

When she reached for a twenty near Spike’s boot, he shocked her by crouching down and grabbing her wrist, tugging until she finally lifted her head to meet his eyes.

“You really want to come with?” he asked. His voice was quieter now, more in control, but his eyes were still dark with bewilderment.

“Why wouldn’t I?” Buffy replied. “Christmas is about family. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along. That’s why I’ve been trying to make it special for us.”

“Your mum and your friends are here, though.”

“But if you go to this punk thing, _you_ won’t be.”

Carefully, he took the flyer from her hand, smoothing out some of the crinkles in the paper to look more closely at what it had to say. “Your mum can’t be happy about this.”

“Mom isn’t the one leading my life. But she wants me happy. She understands why I need to do this. It was her idea we get a suite. Her money, too.”

Spike nodded, though what he was agreeing to, Buffy had no idea. “Joyce is a smart lady,” he said quietly. “Lot smarter than I am.”

“That’s because you’re being a poophead.”

A single brow shot up. “You sound like Red.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes Willow’s words are the best ones.” She watched as he folded the flyer into a small square and tucked it inside his jeans pocket. “Does that mean you believe me now?” Buffy asked. “Are we going to go?”

For a long moment, Spike was silent, his gaze darting from her face to the remaining money that was still scattered on the floor. “I haven’t got your gift yet,” he finally said.

Buffy frowned. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Just…doesn’t seem right to take this.”

“Do you want it?”

“Don’t deserve it.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Silence again, only this time, his eyes were fixed on the floor. “Most of the time…I know you love me,” he said. “And then others…I wonder when the other shoe’s goin’ to drop. You’ve been so wrapped up in makin’ this holiday better than last year, and I thought…and then seein’ this thing was in LA. You don’t even talk about Angel any more, Buffy, and I wonder why that is.”

“Angel’s not a part of my life. That’s why I don’t talk about him.”

But Spike shook his head. “Angel’s _always_ goin’ to be a part of your life,” he countered. “First love and all that rot. And the fact that he doesn’t even know yet about the little one? It all makes my head spin sometimes.”

“I don’t know what else I can do to make it easier for you,” Buffy said.

“You don’t have to. This is my problem. I’ll be the one to sort it out. You just might have to knock me around a bit to keep my head straight, is all.”

“So…” She chewed at her lip. “Are we going or not?”

His answer came as a swift, hard kiss, leaving her breathless and dizzy when he finally broke away. “Yeah,” he murmured, leaning his forehead against hers. “We’re goin’. Get away from all the troubles and all the fighting and just…be.”

Looping her arms around his neck, Buffy kissed him again, this time more tenderly, trying to convey to him what her words had obviously failed. “I really am sorry about crazy Buffy and her Christmas capers,” she said. “I never meant to make this hard for you. I just wanted---.”

“I know.” His hand slipped beneath her blouse, resting over the soft swell of her stomach. “I’m sorry, too.”

As his mouth returned to hers, Spike pressed Buffy back to the floor, pushing her shirt up and out of his way to expose the rounded curve of her abdomen.

“Don’t,” she protested, trying to cover herself back up.

His hand caught hers and prevented her from doing so. “Why not?”

Buffy grimaced. “I’m fat.”

“You’re not. You’re bloody gorgeous.”

“You’re biased.”

“No, I’ve got eyes.” Shifting to lie on his side next to her, he rested his hand over her belly button, his fingertips stroking her skin so lightly that it almost tickled. “Wrote something for you the other day,” he said, almost casually. “It’s not much, but---.”

“---but you’re going to share it with me anyway,” she said eagerly.

His head ducked, almost hiding his pleased smile. “It’s just a little thing,” he repeated. “Not even finished, but…” He paused, his attention fixing on her stomach, before starting to recite.

“’My soul, though lost now  
Hungers for you through the thin veil of time  
My heart, though no longer beating  
Yearns to awaken from the cold and live within the light of your love  
Yet while my mind knows that what is lost and what is silent makes the fight futile  
I will never stop searching  
Never stop listening  
For the strength of your soul, the beat of your heart, will save me.’”

Her hand was cupping his face, pulling his lips to hers, before he’d barely finished the poem. “You were wrong,” she murmured into his mouth. “That’s the best gift you could’ve ever given me.”

They felt the kick at the same time, and Spike jerked away, his head whipping around to stare at Buffy’s stomach.

She grinned. “Looks like Schmoo agrees with me,” she said.

He stayed quiet, returning his hand to the curve of her stomach and waiting until the baby shifted again. Only then did his features break into an excited smile.

“Knew the little one was movin’ around and such,” he said, “but I didn’t think it was that strong.”

“Her mom’s a Slayer and her dad’s a big bad vampire. Of course, she’s got a wicked kick. The little boys on the playground are going to be in _big_ trouble.” She stopped, suddenly contemplative. “Why do you think I keep referring to the baby as she?” she asked. “Do you think my mouth knows something my brain doesn’t?”

“Doesn’t it always?” he teased.

Buffy slapped at his chest. “I’m serious.”

“I dunno. Maybe you just _want_ it to be a girl.”

“Do _you_ want it to be a girl?”

“Just want it to be healthy, luv.”

“I know, but…you really don’t have a preference? You don’t daydream about what it’s going to be like later?” She twisted in order to see him better. “When you pretend you’re telling the baby hugely inappropriate bedtime stories that I’ll give you hell for when I find out, is it a boy or a girl you’re seeing?”

“I don’t,” Spike admitted. “I just see you.”

Buffy smiled, and then shook her head. “Lame.”

“Can’t say I don’t try.”

“Nope. Of all the things I can say about you, giving up is definitely not one of them.” When his arms curled around her, pulling her close against his chest, Buffy breathed a deep sigh of contentment. “I hate it when we fight,” she said, her voice muffled against his skin.

“Me, too,” Spike said softly.

“I don’t think Schmoo likes it much either. She always seems to kick me more when we’re arguing.”

“Just her way of tellin’ you to shut the hell up and kiss her old man.”

Buffy chuckled. “It is not.”

“Oh? Should be, then.”

“We’d be kissing twenty-four hours a day then.”

His fingers trailed over her shoulder, coiling a lock of her hair around his thumb. “And what’s so wrong with that?”

She answered him with a kiss. Frankly, she was tired of talking. She had a feeling, Spike was, too.

* * *

Joyce was prepared for the worst when the shouting started. But when the noises died down, and neither Buffy nor Spike came storming back upstairs, she put away the little marshmallows and turned off the kitchen light. There wouldn’t be any need for hot chocolate for anybody tonight.

She retreated to her bedroom, giving the young lovers as much space as she could without actually leaving her home. There was little doubt in her mind about what exactly was going on in her basement, but considering the events of the day, Joyce was prepared to overlook it this one time. It was better that the two worked through their problems. It would’ve been nicer if they could’ve done that while staying home for the holidays, but she understood Buffy’s need to give this LA trip to Spike. It would be their last chance for any alone time before the baby came. They needed to take advantage of it while they could.

The thought occurred to her while she was moisturizing, but she waited until she was done with her nightly rituals before picking up the phone. She was grateful that he answered almost right away.

“I wasn’t sure you’d be home yet,” Joyce said, leaning back against her headboard. “Doesn’t Willow usually meet with Esme tonight?”

“Yes,” Giles said. “I’ve only just returned from dropping her off.” He paused. “Is there something wrong with Buffy?”

“Just the usual, pregnancy angst. But I wanted to tell you about what’s going on so that it doesn’t come as a surprise.”

Briefly, she described the trip to Los Angeles she’d helped Buffy put together, leaving out the details of the couple’s fighting. It wasn’t her place to tell that part of the story. Giles listened with his usual sedate grace, only speaking up when she was finished.

“What about Angel?” he asked. “Is she planning on seeing him while she’s there?”

“I don’t think so,” Joyce replied. “I think this is just about Buffy and Spike.”

“Angel won’t be pleased he’s been kept in this dark this long regarding her pregnancy.”

“Angel doesn’t have a place in her life any more. He can be as unhappy about it as he wants, just as long as he leaves Buffy alone.”

“Yes, well…” There was a pause, and Joyce heard the ruffling of papers through the line. “Thank you for letting me know. I do appreciate it. I’ll start making the necessary arrangements to cover for them while they’re away.”

“You’re still coming for Christmas dinner, right? Just because Buffy won’t be here doesn’t mean you’re not still wanted.”

“Oh.” There was no mistaking the surprise in his voice. “Well, yes, actually, I’d thought---.”

“Well, stop thinking. You’re coming. Considering the size of the turkey I bought, the more mouths I have here, the better.”

They exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then Joyce hung up, content that she’d done the right thing in confirming the invitation. Everyone was working too hard these days. Christmas was meant to be enjoyed, and if she couldn’t do it with her daughter, she’d make do with the next best thing.

* * *

The knock at his door surprised Robin, and he was frowning as he crossed the room to answer it.

“Maggie,” he said. She was standing on his threshold with a brightly wrapped gift balanced awkwardly in her hands. “This is…I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I missed you on campus,” she said. Thrusting the gift forward, she added, “Merry Christmas.”

“Thank you.” Robin took the gift and stepped aside, leaving room in the doorway for her to enter.

“I can’t stay.” Without the present in her hands, her composure stiffened, and she lifted her chin as she addressed him. “I was hoping you could give me some good news about the Slayer.”

For a moment, Robin regarded her. There was something too eager about her questions, something that had grown increasingly grating over the semester. He wanted to give her the information she was seeking, but at the same time, he was no longer sure that it would be used for the greater good. He’d heard the stories about what had happened to Graham Miller, how the soldier had gone missing and was now being held in solitary confinement, pulled from his classes and away from society while they waited to see if they could fully trust him.

Part of Robin feared being placed in the very same position.

“No, unfortunately,” he said. “She cancelled her last appointment, and then skipped out today as soon as the test was done.”

Maggie’s face fell. “That’s a shame,” she said. “She won’t be around next term because of her pregnancy---.” She stopped, frowning. “Have you considered sharing your background with her?” she asked. “Perhaps gaining some camaraderie with her that way?”

“Well, no---.”

“Do it. Time’s running short, and we can’t afford many more delays. Keep me updated on how it’s going.” She was half-turned when she added, “Have a good holiday, Robin. And…thank you.”

He closed the door with a heavy heart. Part of him wished he’d never accepted Maggie’s employment offer in the first place. Another part was glad that he was finally getting the opportunity to put some closure on his past in finding his mother’s killer.

At the moment, he wasn't entirely certain which part was in control.


	37. Maiden Virtue Rudely Strumpeted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LXVI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy and Spike have come to an agreement about Christmas and are going to Los Angeles for the holiday as their gifts to themselves and from everyone…

The first few days were fun. Los Angeles wasn’t exactly the home of Buffy’s best memories, but a lot had happened since the last time she’d been there, and she was determined that this trip was going to grind all the others to dust. She had Spike; she had spending money; and she didn’t have anybody looking over her shoulder, telling her what she could and couldn’t do. Life was good.

Spike was _amazingly_ good. Oh, sure, the car ride to LA had been slightly on the tense side, and even after they’d arrived at the hotel, he’d spent just a little too long out on the balcony smoking his cigarettes. But, as soon as they hit the first club and the driving beats of the stuff he called music filled the air, his tension evaporated. They were out until all hours that night, only dragging back to their room minutes before the sun came up, and he’d fucked her twice before Buffy could even get into the shower to wash away the sweat and smoke. It was too feral to be whitewashed with nicer terms like “making love,” and she’d spent the entire time under the spray amazed at how unleashed he’d been. He very rarely displayed that side any longer, not with her advancing pregnancy. It made for a wonderful change.

When she’d crawled into bed beside his naked form, ready for another go if he wanted one, though, Spike had just spooned up behind her, his hands resting possessively on her stomach.

“Thanks, luv,” he’d murmured, half-asleep.

She’d smiled. Hearing him so content and feeling his devotion so proudly around her middle was the best gift he could’ve given her.

She learned a lot in the days running up until Christmas, or at least, she _heard_ a lot. Names like Sid and Joey and Mick and Vanian were all it took to start vehement arguments, sometimes erupting in full-blown fights, and Buffy quickly discerned that Sid and Joey were the two Spike was particularly passionate about. Mere mention of them turned him on like a light switch, and he’d often go for hours with whoever brought them up. She tried to contribute in the beginning, but quickly stopped when it became obvious she was in over her head. So, she settled for just watching, trying to dance, and taking pleasure in the fact that Spike seemed to genuinely be enjoying himself.

Though there was more to it all than the music, that was all Buffy saw. Spike seemed to take extra pains to keep her as apart from the drugs and alcohol as he could, even resorting to actually leaving early the second night when things got particularly dark. She didn’t press. He was protecting her and Schmoo the only way he knew how; not everyone who showed up at the revival cared about the welfare of the pregnant girl wandering around like a lost puppy. It was a grateful balance they carried.

Until Christmas Eve.

That’s when the trip took a definite turn for the weird.

* * *

The jarring ring of the telephone startled Buffy, the black eyeliner in her hand jagging crookedly across her face. “Damn it,” she muttered with a grimace. Putting on her make-up would’ve been tons easier in the bathroom, but the mirrors in there were still all steamy from the hour-long shower she and Spike had taken. _Note to self_ , she thought as she tossed aside the pencil. _Insist on separate showers when I have to get ready to go out afterwards._

“Want me to get it, luv?” Spike called out from the bathroom. The lack of proper mirrors meant nothing to him. Lucky jerk.

“No, I’ve got it.” Picking up the phone, she cradled it in her shoulder as she reached for a tissue to wipe off the black smear. “Hello?”

“Buffy. Thank god you’re still there.”

She frowned. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

“Are you sitting down?”

“No. Should I be?”

Spike wandered in from the bathroom, running his fingers through his hair to mess it into coarse curls. “Something goin’ on back home?” he asked.

“I’m about to find out,” Buffy said.

“No, nothing’s going on here,” her mom replied. There was a pause. “Now.”

Her impatience with the conversation grew. “What happened?” she demanded. “Is it demon-y or Christmas-y?”

“It’s…Angel-y. Are you sitting down? You know it’s not good for you to be standing too long on your feet at this stage---.”

With a frustrated sigh, Buffy plopped down on the edge of the bed. “Spill, Mom. What about Angel?”

At the mention of the other vampire’s name, Spike stilled, his eyes automatically going to Buffy’s exposed stomach. The black top she wore left very little to the imagination, and it had taken all his best wheedling to convince her to wear it out in public. But it had helped her blend in with the rest of the punk crowd, even though Buffy had felt self-conscious about it the first night.

“He called here about ten minutes ago looking for you,” her mom said. “I tried being evasive about where you were, but he started going on about visions, and you being in danger, and---.”

“You didn’t.” Buffy’s muscles froze. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

“I did. I’m sorry. It just came out.”

She expelled a long breath. “So when should I be expecting him on my doorstep?” she asked. “Do I have time to run and hide?”

The mattress shifted behind her as Spike climbed onto the bed. Situating himself so that she was sitting between his legs, he curled his arm around her stomach and pulled her gently back against his chest.

“He did say something dangerous was going to happen.” Her mom was backpedaling. With a sinking feeling, Buffy realized that she was actually trying to encourage the meeting. “And it’s already dark. Depending on where he was when he called---.”

A sharp knock at the door made both Buffy and Spike jump. “I’m going to say he was close,” she said, looking at the closed door. “Thanks for the heads up, Mom.”

“I guess it was more of a head peeking. I’m sorry, honey.”

“That’s OK. Merry Christmas.”

She said it with more enthusiasm than she felt, hanging up the phone without really hearing the repeated greeting on the other end of the line. Spike held her possessively against him, his mouth just a breath away from her ear.

“Could just do a runner,” he whispered. “We’re only a few floors up. It wouldn’t be that big of a drop.” She felt him smile. “Better yet, we answer the door and toss Peaches out the window instead.”

“And that would accomplish what exactly?”

“Makin’ me feel good. And pissing Angel off. Two very important goals in my life.”

Another knock came, this one harder. “Buffy!” Angel called out. “I know you’re in there. Open up. We need to talk.”

“Where’s a bolt of lightning when you need it?” Buffy muttered. Rising from the bed, she took a deep breath, smoothing down her top to hide as much of her pregnancy as she could, and then rolled her eyes at her own stupidity. It was like trying to hide a buffalo underneath a tea cozy. There was no way Angel wasn’t going to immediately notice.

She steeled her nerves as she turned the handle on the door. She could do this. She was the Slayer, and he was just---.

“Oh, my god, you’re Santa Claus!” Buffy exclaimed.

Or a very near approximation of it, at least.

He was dressed in a red velvet suit, the black belt cinched tightly around his waist. Though the costume wasn’t padded, it did come with a hat pulled low over his ears, and a white beard that dangled from one of his hands. Over his shoulder was slung a bulky sack, but the sight of a sword hilt peeking from its gathered top hinted to Buffy that it didn’t necessarily contain any toys.

His eyes widened at the same time hers did, sweeping over her mini skirt and high-heeled boots before coming back to rest on her stomach.

“That’s a baby,” he blurted. His gaze flew back to her face. “You have a baby.”

“And you have the Christmas spirit,” she countered. “Though, technically, Schmoo’s still considered a fetus until it’s actually born, and you’re a little lacking in the jelly belly to be a real Santa.”

“Your mom…I called, but…she didn’t…” He seemed to be at a loss for words, frowning for a long moment. “Did you say _Schmoo_?”

“Forgot what a savant you could be,” Spike drawled from behind her. Buffy felt him round the corner that hid the main part of the room from the suite door, and chewed at her lip when he boldly leaned against the wall at her side, staring Angel down with a disdainful gaze. “’Course, seems to be more of the idiot variety these days---.”

“Spike,” Angel growled. Dropping the sack, he launched himself forward to pin the smaller vampire to the wall. “What the hell have you…?”

When he stopped and pointedly sniffed at the air, Buffy knew the jig was up.

“Let him go,” she said evenly. She stepped between them and deliberately pried Angel’s fingers away from Spike’s bare biceps, wishing that this one time, Spike hadn’t opted for the safety pin-riddled tank that he was so fond of wearing to the punk shows. The black eyeliner didn’t help his credibility, either, and even though the whole look had gotten her hot on more than one occasion over the past few days, right now, it was just getting in the way of resolving the issue with Angel.

“Are you going to tell me what the hell’s going on here?” Angel demanded. “I was on my way to go save some orphaned kids when Cordy calls to tell me she’s had a vision that you’ve been infected by some demon that’s made you balloon into Shamu---.”

“Hey! I haven’t gained _that_ much weight!”

“---but when I call your mom to find out what’s going on, _she_ tells me not only are you in LA but that you’re most likely fine because _Spike_ is with you.” The look he shot the other vamp was venomous. “What’re you planning, Spike?” he demanded. “Where’s Drusilla?”

“He’s not planning anything---.”

“Since when do you bloody care where Dru is?”

Angel wasn’t listening. In spite of Buffy’s placement between them, he jabbed a finger into Spike’s shoulder. “No more second chances,” he warned. “I mean it this time. I’m---ow!”

The force of Buffy throwing Angel back into the hall made the walls shake and Spike grin. “Maybe you should toddle off to your little reindeer and make nice-nice with the kiddies,” he advised to the downed vampire. “Me and Buffy have a prior engagement---.”

“ _You_ and Buffy?” All too quickly, Angel was back on his feet, and Buffy had to put herself in the doorway to prevent him from taking another swipe at Spike. “Since when is there a _you_ and Buffy? Since when is there even a _you_?”

“Since a lot of stuff has happened after you left Sunnydale,” she shot back before Spike could say a word. She held up a warning finger. “Don’t you dare start laying claim to anything that’s going on in my life, Angel. You gave up that right when you walked away.”

“Leaving didn’t mean I stopped caring,” he replied. “I’ll always love you. You know that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not exactly tops on her Christmas card list this year, now are you, pops? Or else, Buffy would’ve made sure you knew about our little---.”

“Spike!” Her head was spinning from the gibes going back and forth. Rubbing a hand over her eyes, Buffy took a deep breath, ready to divulge the one detail she was pretty sure her mother hadn’t shared with Angel.

A muffled ring from somewhere in the region of Angel’s hips stopped her from speaking. As if on cue, three sets of eyes swiveled to stare at the vampire’s red velvet crotch before Spike pulled sharply enough on her arm to break Buffy’s gaze.

“Hang on,” Angel said, reaching into his pants pocket to pull out a small cell phone. “Yeah? What is it, Cordy?”

Spike ignored the unexpected conversation taking place in the hall and tugged Buffy closer against him. “Let me be the one to tell him,” he pleaded, his tone low. “I want to see the look on the wanker’s face---.”

“No,” she whispered back. “This is going to be hard enough as it is for him to accept, and if we want to have any hope at all of keeping the peace after we get back to Sunnydale, you’ll let me take care of it.”

His face fell. “That’s what you keep sayin’, but I’m still not seein’ it.”

“Well, take a good look, Spike.” She waved toward the doorway. “It doesn’t get any more obvious than Santa showing up on your front step.”

The snap of the cell being closed made both of them look back to Angel. “I have to get going,” he said, though it was obvious from the tone of his voice that leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. “Things are getting sticky down at the orphanage. Cordy says I don’t have much time left to help the kids.”

The mention of children in peril was all it took for Buffy to snap out of her self-involvement. “Do you need help?” she asked.

Angel frowned, glancing at her bare stomach and then looking away, as if he was embarrassed for having been seen looking at it in the first place. “Maybe not this time,” he said. “In your condition---.”

Her jaw dropped. “In _my_ condition,” she said, indignant, “I managed to kick your ass out of here, so maybe that’s a sentence you don’t want to be finishing, Angel.”

“I just meant---.”

“I know what you meant. And I’ll have _you_ know that I’m still patrolling, thank you very much. I’m pregnant. I’m not an invalid.” She grabbed her leather jacket and marched out of the room before either vampire could stop her. “Let’s go.”

“Now, hold up, Buffy,” Spike said. He started to follow after her, but was brought up short when she whirled on her heel to face him, her arms folded across her full chest as she waited for him to speak. “Not that I’m agreeing with Angel, but maybe he’s got a point. You don’t need to be tearin’ in there. You don’t even know what it is he’s goin’ to be facin’.”

Without saying a word, Buffy turned her level gaze to Angel. After a long moment under her unblinking scrutiny, he sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Bunch of Bhryll demons, setting up a human sacrifice to raise some dead war spirit,” he said. “Nothing fancy or exciting.”

“But they’re planning on using the kids in the orphanage for their sacrifice?” Buffy asked.

Another begrudging pause. “Yes.”

“I’m going.”

“So’m I.”

Angel jerked his head up at Spike’s announcement. Buffy would’ve sworn she could actually hear the hard snap. “I’m not letting you anywhere near those orphans,” he said, his tone menacing. “Don’t think I haven’t forgotten what you did to those kids in Abergavenny.”

“That was a long time ago, mate.” Spike lifted his chin in pride. “I’m a new man now.”

“You’re not a _man_ at all.”

“More of one than you, I’d wager. How’re your little swimmers doin’? Mine have been doin’ laps around the---.”

“Enough!” Inwardly, Buffy was cringing at the crudity of Spike’s words, hating how he always got so defensive around the men he felt threatened by. She turned to Angel. “If Spike wants to help, he’s helping. You can trust him. I promise you that.”

His mouth opened to protest, but an insistent ring from his lower regions made him snarl in frustration instead. “I’m going, Cordy!” he growled into the phone once he’d retrieved it from his pocket again. “I don’t care if they paid in advance!” A pause. “I am _not_ cranky!”

“Someone’s knickers are all in a twist,” Spike said casually when Angel snapped his phone shut.

“Leave my knickers out of this.” He held up a warning finger, though his eyes jumped between both Buffy and Spike. “I know Spike’s up to something, and I think this is a huge mistake, but I don’t have time to argue with you about it right now. Cordy’s going to be a big enough headache when I get back as it is.”

“Spike’s not up to anything except wanting to help.”

“Save it. I’ve got a human sacrifice to stop. But as soon as this is all over, Buffy, you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on here.”

Whirling on his heel, Angel stormed off down the hallway, not looking back to see if the others were following.

Spike stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Well, this is goin’ to be a jolly Christmas Eve,” he remarked.

Buffy sighed. The only plus side to this whole situation was that she’d get to beat up a few demons before having the “talk” with Angel. Just maybe that would be enough to keep her from killing either of the vampires who loved her.

* * *

When the monsters stormed the cafeteria of the orphanage, Lisa was scared.

When they grabbed her and a bunch of other kids and dragged her off to the administrator’s office to tie her to the desk, Lisa was scared.

But when Santa came crashing through the door, sporting snarling fangs and yellow eyes, and then ripped off the head of the first monster he saw, without even looking like it was very hard to do, Lisa was terrified.

She screamed. As loud as she could. And when it choked in her throat because she ran out of breath to hold it, she sucked in more air and started screaming again.

A figure loomed at her side, and warm fingers clamped over her mouth.

“Do you have any idea how annoying that is?” a woman complained.

The ropes that bound Lisa to the desk fell away. Turned her head, she saw her rescuer shift her attention to the others that were tied up around the room. Lisa’s eyes widened at the sight of the woman’s tummy, but then a figure in black blocked her view and she had to sit up in order to continue watching.

“Spike!” the pregnant lady called. “Get them out of here!”

The man in black straightened from where he’d been driving a knife through one of the monsters, letting the dead body fall to the floor. “Right,” he said. But when he twisted to grab Lisa, and she saw the fangs and yellow eyes on his face, too--- _was he wearing make-up?_ \---she couldn’t help but start screaming at the top of her lungs again.

“Bloody hell,” she heard him mutter. “Thanks a lot, Peaches,” he called back over his shoulder. It looked like he was talking to Santa, who didn’t look all too happy about being interrupted. “You couldn’t have saved a Helen Keller society instead?”

“Sorry to inconvenience you, Spike!” Santa barked.

“We don’t have time for this!” the woman shouted. One of the monsters had turned its attention to her, and she was fluidly avoiding the swings from its meaty paws. “You two can whip ‘em out later. I’ll even measure them for you. Right now…” She ducked another blow, darting around to drive her heel into the small of the monster’s back. “…just save these kids!”

Spike seemed to accept the orders without question, but when he scooped Lisa up in his arms, she immediately began to struggle against the vise of his grip, trying to get free. Her foot slipped from his hold, and she drove it into his crotch. She knew it would hurt. Darren Lovelace always screamed like a baby when she did it to him, but that’s what he got for calling her a four-eyed sissy girl.

“Oi!” Spike growled as he jumped over the dead body of the monster he’d killed. “Tryin’ to save you! Least you could do is not bruise the goods here.”

“Let me go! You’re going to eat me, and then Santa’s going to eat me, and I don’t want to die _or_ get eaten!”

He kicked open the door of an adjacent room and dropped her unceremoniously to the ground. “Can’t eat you twice,” he said. “And Santa’s on a diet anyway. Tryin’ to lose those extra ten pounds he’s got in his forehead.”

The joke took her by surprise, but it didn’t stop the question from tumbling out of her mouth anyway. “Are _you_ going to eat me?” Lisa asked.

As she watched, his face smoothed, the fangs receding and his eyes warming to a soft blue. He looked normal now. Well, except for the make-up. She wondered if anybody called Spike a sissy girl for wearing it. “Now why would I want to go and do that?” he asked.

“Because…that’s what you do?”

“Not any more, pet.”

“You mean, you’re a good guy?”

He nodded, and then placed a finger over his lips, asking her without words to keep it a secret. “Just don’t be spreadin’ that around too far,” he said. “Got a reputation to protect.”

The grin he flashed her made her smile, too. Lisa scrambled to her feet when he ran back to the other room. She didn’t want to go back to where all the scary stuff was happening, but when Spike returned with two more kids tucked beneath his arms, she asked, “Is Mrs. Claus going to have a baby?”

Something about her question made him mad, and he leaned down until his face was just inches from hers. “That’s _not_ Mrs. Claus,” he said. “And the little bun in the oven is mine, not St. Nick’s, got it? Don’t go tellin’ anyone any different now.”

She froze when she saw Santa looming in the doorway. The fangs and golden eyes were gone now, but blood streaked his cheeks and there was a glower on his face that meant he was still cranky.

“The baby’s _yours_?” Santa said, his voice tight.

Spike straightened, throwing his shoulders back as he faced off with the other man. “Yeah. Your nose must be goin’ in your old age. I would’ve thought you’d’ve sniffed it out long before this.”

“It’s not possible. Vampires can’t have children.”

“Wasn’t a vampire when it happened.”

That seemed to throw Santa, but when the pregnant lady appeared behind him, his face softened, his gaze moving to her, ignoring Spike completely again.

“The last one’s officially toast,” she announced. Her weary smile faltered when she saw the look on Santa’s face. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t speak. He just placed his bloody hand flat against her stomach. After a moment, his shoulders sagged. “You didn’t tell me Spike was the father,” Santa said quietly. “Why would you keep something like that a secret, Buffy? I’m starting to think I don’t know you at all any more.”

Her face closed, though there was sadness in her eyes. “I told you a lot had changed since you left, Angel.”

Lisa turned a confused face to Spike. “Santa’s an angel?”

“Not really,” he replied, though the soft tone of his voice was devoid of any sarcasm.

The woman named Buffy looked past Santa to Spike, and the silence that passed between them practically filled the room. Finally, Spike nodded.

“Go on,” he said. “I’ll take care of the rugrats and finish the clean up.”

He didn’t speak again until the pair was gone, but then the words that came from his mouth were subdued. Lisa waited until she was safely ensconced back in her room before talking to him again.

“What are you?” she asked quietly. “Are you really a vampire like Santa said?”

“Yeah, niblet,” he replied, his tone matching hers. “But like I said, I’m not goin’ to eat you.”

“Is the lady a vampire, too?”

“No, she’s one of the good guys.” He turned his back on her, hiding his face as he headed back to the door.

“But doesn’t that make you one of the good guys, too?”

He paused in the doorway, his fingers pale where they clutched the jamb. “S’pose it might look that way.”

Lisa nodded, suddenly certain of it. “I think you are,” she announced. “Which is good because daddies should always be good guys.”

When he glanced back at her, his eyes were bleak. “It’s a good theory,” he said, and then he nodded. “Merry Christmas, pet.”

“Merry Christmas, Spike.”

The door closed behind him. As she settled herself to sleep, Lisa made a silent wish that the pregnant lady had a merry Christmas, too. For Spike’s sake.

* * *

He waited in the car for Buffy to emerge from the orphanage. Flicking the ash of his third cigarette out the window, Spike replayed the evening’s events to try and figure out if there was something that had happened that could come back and bite him in the ass. He didn’t think so. He’d played by Buffy’s rules, gone in and helped save the day. It wasn’t his fault that the little girl with the banshee lungs had mistaken the baby for Angel’s. Buffy could hardly hold it against him for wanting to set the paternity straight. And it certainly wasn’t his fault that Angel was lurking around the kiddies when there were nasties in the next room to polish off. If his feelings got hurt, it was his own bloody fault.

Still.

Spike knew that that wasn’t how Buffy had wanted Angel to find out. For her sake, Spike wished that he could’ve changed how the scene had played out.

He was about to light up his fourth cigarette when the front door of the building opened and a sloped-shouldered Slayer exited. Her top was torn, barely covering her front, and there was a nasty gash across her cheek where one of the Bhrylls had taken a swipe at her. Still, to his eyes, she glowed with a resilience that always stole his metaphorical breath when they walked away from a fight. In a flash, Spike was out of the car and halfway across the lot to stand at her side.

“Where’s the poof?” he asked warily, shooting a glance back at the silent orphanage.

“On the phone with Cordy,” she replied. “I guess there’s some paperwork stuff she’s trying to get him to take care of with the administrator as long as he’s here.”

Spike rested his hand on the small of her back, guiding her toward the car. His palms itched from the desire to take her hand in his, but Buffy had stuffed them into her coat pockets and seemed to have no inclination to remove them, lost in thoughts he wasn’t privy to. It was maddening, even more so because he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

“He’s disappointed in me,” she said out of the blue. Her gaze remained forward, her voice calm. “He thinks I’m screwing up my life by keeping Schmoo.”

Something inside Spike twisted at the casual mention of an abortion. “He also thought he was doin’ you a good thing by walkin’ away last spring,” he said, fighting to keep his tone neutral.

“He did.” When he looked at her in surprise, the corner of Buffy’s mouth lifted sadly. “If Angel hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have gone to England, and none of the rest of it would’ve happened. I wouldn’t have met you when you were William, and you wouldn’t have come back to Sunnydale, and we wouldn’t be having Schmoo together. When you think about it, everything we have is because of Angel.” She chuckled. “He _really_ wasn’t happy to hear _that_ theory.”

“S’pose not,” he murmured. It didn’t exactly thrill him, either.

“I’m just glad it’s done,” Buffy continued. “I don’t have this huge thing hanging over me any more. Do you know how tiring it is worrying about that kind of stuff all the time? And try doing it pregnant. Not of the fun.”

“Is that it, then?” They reached the passenger side of the car, and Spike stepped around to force her to look at him. “He’s not goin’ to show up on our doorstep, tryin’ to muck up what we’ve got?”

His fear must’ve shown in his eyes, because Buffy’s face softened, and her hand lifted to cup the side of his face. “He promised to behave,” she said. “I had to promise him sexual favors for the next two years, but---.”

“What?”

She immediately started laughing at the panicked anger in his voice. “I’m kidding. Lighten up, Spike. It’s all good, really. Angel knows, the world didn’t end, and Schmoo hasn’t kicked me since we got here. Plus, it’s Christmas Eve and we just made the holidays a whole bunch merrier for a group of orphans. Life is good. Let’s just enjoy it, OK?”

After brushing a faint kiss across his mouth, Buffy slid into the car, waiting for Spike to join her. It took a minute of his standing there, holding her door handle, before she poked her head back out.

“Don’t tell me I’ve stunned you into speechlessness,” she said.

He bristled at the mocking tone in her words. “Hardly,” Spike replied. “Just waiting for the other shoe to drop.” His thoughts were a whirlwind as he went around to the driver’s door and slid into the seat beside her. Buffy surprised him by being there, pressing into his side, her breasts hot against his arm as she devoured his mouth with hers.

“The worst part is over now,” she whispered when she broke away. Her eyes gleamed in the silvery moonlight streaming in through the windshield. “Angel doesn’t like it, but I told him the same thing I told you. He’s not a part of my life any more. He doesn’t get a say about who I love, or who I imagine my future with. There is no other shoe, Spike. There’s just you. You’re completely shoed.”

He couldn’t help but smile at her casual destruction of the English language, though he had to admit that the relief coursing through him at her choice of words helped his mood as well. He kissed her again, tearing free from it before she expected, and then settled back behind the steering wheel.

“I don’t really want to go out to the club tonight,” he said, turning the key in the ignition. “Do you?”

“Oh, thank god,” Buffy exclaimed. She leaned her head heavily back against her seat. “I was dreading the thought of all that noise and all those bodies. No offense, but some of the people there really need to learn that soap is their friend.” She sighed. “Oh, that sounds like heaven right about now. A hot shower and a warm bed.”

“What about your own bed?”

“Huh?”

Spike navigated the Thunderbird away from the curb, aiming it in the direction of the hotel. “You heard me. Fancy wakin’ up Christmas morning back in the Summers homestead with that bloody pig tucked under your chin?”

“But…what about our holiday? And the music?” Confusion darkened her face. “Aren’t you having fun?”

Reaching across, he took her hand in his and brought it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to its palm. “Had a bleedin’ wonderful time, luv. But truth be told, I don’t particularly relish the notion of Angel pokin’ his nose around when we’re practically in his back yard. And I know you’d much rather be around your mum and the others tomorrow. You were right. Christmas should be about family.”

He was rewarded with her arms thrown tightly around his neck, her mouth peppering kisses on every bare inch of his skin that it could find. It took all his concentration not to run the car off the road, but Spike decided it was worth it. He’d had his Christmas.

Now, it was time to give Buffy hers.


	38. The Cause of This Fair Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LXXXVII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy and Spike have decided to return to Sunnydale for Christmas, after having a run-in with Angel and his discovery of the truth about Buffy’s pregnancy and her relationship with Spike…

It wasn’t going to be the Christmas that Joyce had imagined. No Buffy, no Spike, no excited giggles coming up the stairwell before dawn. True, it was partially her own doing---she had been just as supportive as Willow when Buffy had hit upon the plan to take Spike away---but that didn’t mean she didn’t regret that this would be her first Christmas without her daughter around. Part of her feared of it becoming a growing trend, which only made her feel old. She was too young and vital for empty nest syndrome. Maybe if she repeated that often enough to herself she’d start believing it.

So, when her body clock woke her up at seven, Joyce rolled over and stared at the window rather than rising immediately from bed. There was no need to rush around; the others wouldn’t be arriving until afternoon, though she expected Xander would escape his family’s get-together as quickly as possible in order to join Havi at the Summers’ home. Joyce could luxuriate with a few extra minutes in bed, and try not to dwell on the fact that she hadn’t heard from Buffy since their phone conversation the previous evening.

The crash that resounded up the stairs made the walls shake.

Up in a flash, Joyce grabbed her robe, slipping it on while she flew out her room to see what had happened on the lower floor. She came to a stunned halt when another door opened and someone else came charging out as well.

“Buffy?” she said, surprised.

Buffy shot a grin over her shoulder but didn’t stop moving as she headed for the stairs. “Merry Christmas, Mom!”

Joyce followed after, but the question of what her daughter was doing back from LA---and obviously sleeping in her own bed---had to wait when they came upon Havi and Spike glaring each other down in the kitchen. Both looked as if they’d just woken, Havi in a tank and bottoms, Spike dressed only in a pair of jeans. Shards of ceramic were scattered at their bare feet, while loose plaster dust spotted Havi’s dark hair. A skinny line of blood dripped from a cut on her temple.

“You were not supposed to be here!” she stormed.

“Well, I bloody well am!” Spike shouted back. “And since when do we keep stakes in the same drawer as the spoons? Goin’ to start skewering your Cheerios?”

Joyce’s eyes widened when she saw the wooden stake still clenched in Havi’s hand. But Buffy beat her to the punch when she stepped between the two, holding up her hands to each of their chests to keep them apart.

“How about someone telling me what’s going on here?” she asked.

“She bloody started it,” Spike growled, jabbing a finger in Havi’s direction. “Came up to get a cuppa, and next thing I know, she’s shovin’ me into the wall with the wrong end of the stick about to go through my back.”

“You shoved me as well,” Havi argued.

“To get you off my back, you bitch.”

“I thought you were a vampire.”

“Guess what? I _am_ a vampire!”

“That’s not---you were not supposed to be here!”

“Enough!” Buffy’s voice rang out, sharp and clear, silencing the others. Carefully, she reached and took the stake out of Havi’s grasp, tucking it into the elasticated waistband of her own pajama bottoms. “It’s Christmas, OK? Remember Christmas? Peace on earth and good will toward men?”

“And vamps,” Spike grumbled.

“And _some_ vamps,” Buffy conceded. “It was just a misunderstanding. Havi thought she was protecting Mom from a threat, and Spike reacted to protect himself. No harm, no foul.”

“She tried---.”

“Spike!”

As Joyce watched, Spike’s brows knitted together into an even darker line, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Should’ve just stayed in LA,” he complained, whirling on his heel to stomp back down into the basement, slamming the door behind him.

Even after he’d left, Havi didn’t relax, her nostrils flaring with her quick breath. “You were not supposed to be here,” she repeated for the third time, this time addressing it to Buffy.

“I know,” Buffy said. She waggled a finger at the bleeding cut on Havi’s temple. “You should go clean that up. It doesn’t look bad, but…”

Havi lifted a hand to her head, as if noticing for the first time that she’d been hurt. With a curt nod of gratitude, she brushed past the other women and disappeared upstairs.

Buffy immediately sagged against the counter. “So much for sleeping in this morning,” she said.

“But you’re here,” Joyce said. Closing the distance between them, she took Buffy into a warm hug, grateful when her daughter’s arms immediately went around her waist. “What happened to your Sid and Nancy Christmas?”

“Called on account of Angel.” Briefly, Buffy explained what had happened in Los Angeles, ending with Spike’s assertion that Christmas was about family. “Not like that wasn’t what I’ve been trying to tell him for the past month,” she finished.

“I heard that, Slayer!”

They both giggled at Spike’s voice floating up from the basement. “And you drove all night just to get home?” Joyce asked.

“I found out there’s a huge bonus to driving on Christmas Eve,” Buffy said. “Absolutely zero traffic. We were here by four, but I didn’t want to wake you up. I was kind of hoping to surprise you with it this morning.” She offered a weak smile, throwing up her hands as if tossing imaginary confetti. “Surprise!”

“Well, I’m just glad you’re here,” Joyce said. “I know I said I was fine with the whole LA thing, but it wouldn’t have been the same without you, Buffy. And now I don’t have to try and rewrap the gifts I got you for Christmas in birthday paper instead.”

They laughed together, a warm, honeyed sound, and set to fixing breakfast. Joyce made a mental note to thank Spike later for bringing her daughter home for the holidays.

* * *

“He was in a _Santa_ suit?”

The laughter that followed Willow’s incredulous query was contagious, to the point where even Spike couldn’t help but join in. Christmas was half-over, the meal eaten, the dishes done, and the gang was simply enjoying being together, with Buffy on the couch and her friends scattered in the room around her. Her face beamed with the flush of her happiness, and once again, Spike patted himself on the back for coming up with this little scheme of bringing her home. Even if Joyce hadn’t pulled him aside and thanked him for the best gift she could’ve asked for, he would’ve known from the look on his Slayer’s face that this was the right thing to do.

“It was the only way the administrators of the orphanage would let him anywhere near the kids,” Buffy explained. “They thought it would be less stressful for the kids that way.”

“Yeah, because seein’ St. Nick tear his fangs through a pack of demons isn’t traumatic at all,” Spike drawled.

“Well, at least it’s over and done with,” Buffy said. “Angel knows about Schmoo and none of us got killed saving Christmas.”

Willow’s smile faltered. “You weren’t…in any _real_ danger, were you?” she asked.

“You mean, other than fighting off half a dozen seven-foot demons with hands the size of Virginia hams while I’m six months pregnant?” Buffy asked. “No, no danger at all.”

The others laughed it off, but Spike saw the shadow pass over the witch’s face, her gaze surreptitiously scanning the cut that was still prominent on the Slayer’s cheek. It clicked then where her worry was stemming from, and he stiffened where he leaned against the wall. Red’s protection spell was supposed to be keeping Buffy from harm for as long as she was pregnant; the Bhrylls should’ve been falling over themselves from the effects of the magic shielding the Slayer from their harm.

When he saw Willow break away from the crowd to go into the kitchen for another tray of eggnog to pass around, he slipped away to join her. “Need some help there, Red?” he asked from over her shoulder.

She jumped, the cups rattling against the counter. “When are you going to get over the sneaking up on people, Spike?” she snapped.

“When I stop bein’ a vampire,” he replied. He leaned closer, his mouth just millimeters from her ear. “Is there something ‘bout your little protection spell on Buffy you’re not sharing?”

“No!” she hissed. She whirled to face him, the color high on her cheeks. “She shouldn’t even have got the scratch. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Maybe she needs a little booster shot.”

“But she shouldn’t,” she argued. “The spell is set to dissolve when she has the baby. There’s no reason for it to be fizzling out now.”

His mouth opened to speak, but a sudden thought made him pause. “You tied it to the little one?” he asked carefully.

“Well, yeah. Isn’t that what we wanted? Buffy to be safe when she wasn’t in top slaying condition?” Her eyes widened. “You don’t think anything’s wrong with the baby, do you? Could that be---?”

“Xander’s getting ready to chew off his own arm in there,” Buffy said as she strode into the kitchen. She didn’t even notice when Spike and Willow jumped guiltily apart, heading straight for the refrigerator. “You would never guess he ate half a turkey less than two hours ago. How’s the eggnog coming?”

“It’s noggy,” Willow said, too-bright.

“And…eggy,” Spike offered. He scowled at how phony they sounded.

They stayed immobile while Buffy loaded her arms with plates of leftovers, chattering away about how much she’d eaten at dinner, and how cute the maternity clothes her mother had bought for her were, and how wouldn’t it be funny if they could get Giles and Wesley under the mistletoe in the front door at the same time?

The last made Spike smile, but it vanished with the Slayer’s exit, and he whirled to face Willow again, his face grim. “Do what it takes to shore up that spell,” he ordered. “I’ll keep an eye on Buffy, see if there is some way I can get her to go for a check-up without makin’ her suspicious. I’m not about to let anything happen to that baby, understand? If I have to tear off my own arm to save the little one, I will. Just---.”

“I’ll do it. As soon as I get home and get to my supplies.”

He nodded. It was the best he could expect. He was just glad he’d come up with the suggestion to come home early. If something was wrong with the baby---.

He shoved the thought aside. Nothing was wrong. It was just Red’s magic not being up to scratch.

The fact that she was the most powerful witch he’d ever met was just something he wouldn’t think about.

* * *

Giles had to wait much longer than he wanted before finding the opportunity to speak with Spike privately. It had been a pleasant surprise to find the pair in the Summers’ home when he’d arrived for Christmas dinner, but ever since, they’d been inseparable. Buffy couldn’t even leave Spike alone in the kitchen with Willow for a few minutes before trailing after him.

Now, though, the younger people were piled around the TV watching _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ , while Joyce was finishing the cleaning up in the kitchen. Wesley had left to fetch Lydia from where she’d been spending her Christmas holidays, leaving Giles standing on the periphery, wondering when it would be appropriate for him to make his exit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Spike reach across the back of the couch and slyly pull his lighter out of the duster that was draped there, before rising to his feet and sauntering toward the back door.

Giles waited a full minute before following.

The air was brisk for Southern California, and the cigarette smoke plumed around Spike’s head as if frozen. When Giles stepped onto the porch, Spike was staring out across the city lights, his face oddly pinked by the flare of his cigarette.

“Couldn’t take it either, huh?” Spike commented without looking back. “Can’t say I blame you. They’ve watched that bloody cartoon every night for the past month. It’s enough to tear your own eyeballs out.”

Giles leaned against the opposite porch post, his eyes steady as they regarded Spike. “How was Los Angeles?” he asked. “Did you enjoy the concerts?”

“It was a bit of all right,” came the reply. “Doesn’t compare to the real thing, but then, can’t expect miracles when it comes to the classics.” He shot Giles a curious glance. “You didn’t really come out here to chat me up about our little holiday, did you?” he asked. “’Cause if you did…” He turned away, letting out a long stream of smoke. “…you _really_ need to get a life. Or laid. Or both, most likely.”

“Actually, I _was_ curious about LA---.”

Spike shook his head. “Brought her back, didn’t I? And I’m playin’ nice with the kiddies, even if Studs did try to take a poke. What more do you want from me?”

“That’s not what I was referring to. If you had let me finish, I would’ve said, I’m curious what Angel said to you regarding Cordelia’s vision. Buffy’s telling leaves a little to be desired, and the way Joyce was speaking last night, Angel seemed to be sincerely worried about Buffy’s safety.”

Dropping his cigarette to the step, Spike ground it out with the toe of his boot. “Angel gets his knickers in a twist if Buffy breathes too heavily,” he said. “Trust me. I was watching her back last night.”

“I don’t doubt that, but---.”

“You’re fucking joking, right?”

Giles looked up to see Spike staring at him in disbelief. “Pardon?”

“You heard me,” Spike said. “No sense in denying it, Rupes. I know you think this is all a lark to me, that I’m just goin’ to bugger off at the first sign of bein’ bored. So let’s just stop with the supportive Watcher routine when it’s just you and me, OK? It’ll be a hell of a lot easier for the both of us.”

He was surprised to hear the bitterness in Spike’s tone. Joyce had warned him that Spike had reservations about his acceptance with the gang, but Giles hadn’t realized it was as deeply rooted as this.

“I suppose if I say you’re wrong, you’ll call me a lying prat and storm off to sulk around Buffy,” Giles commented, wryly. He folded his arms over his chest. “So. What’s it going to take to convince you that _you_ , in fact, are the prat in this scenario, and that I’m actually quite impressed with how devoted you are to her?”

The blunt approach seemed to work as he had hoped. Spike straightened in surprise, his head tilting curiously. “Since when do you like _anything_ about me bein’ with Buffy?” he demanded.

“Do you wish a specific date?”

The question took him even more aback, but he replied, “Sure. Why the hell not.”

“Thanksgiving,” Giles said. “Oz and Xander told me why you were so badly beaten. I’m also aware of the deals you’ve been brokering within the demon community.”

That made Spike deflate, his aspect growing wary. “Bugger,” he muttered. “This is the talk to let me know you’re goin’ to be tellin’ Buffy about it, isn’t it?”

“No, I won’t be telling Buffy.”

“Is it blackmail, then? ‘Cause if it is, you’re goin’ to be disappointed. The only thing of value I’ve got is---.”

“It’s not blackmail, Spike.” He sighed. He hadn’t thought it would be this hard to get through to the vampire. “I’ll admit, I don’t think you appreciate the danger in which you’re placing yourself, but it’s your decision to make, and as far as I can tell, it’s not hurting anyone.” He stopped. “You… _are_ …aware of just how the demon community is going to react when they uncover the truth about your relationship with Buffy, aren’t you? I know you’re fostering this… _image_ , but when they learn that you’ve been lying to them---.”

Spike waved him silent. “Already thought this part through,” he said. “It’s worth it. It’s not like my life isn’t in danger every other day, and if it helps Buffy get through this pregnancy safely, then that’s all that matters.”

“What about the child? It’s very likely they’ll attempt to hurt you through it.”

An angry snarl accompanied a flash of gold in Spike’s eyes. “Not goin’ to happen. I’ll be dust before I let any one of ‘em lay a finger on the little one.”

It was the reaction he’d expected, and Giles nodded knowingly. When he’d first discovered how Spike and Oz were manipulating the demon community, his first concern had been for the baby. Well, his second. His first would always be for Buffy. But he’d quickly realized that the baby would become a target, regardless of who the father was, so his worries that Spike could potentially be exacerbating the situation were redundant at best. At worst, they were an indication of just how little he was showing his trust in Buffy. After everything she had been through, she deserved better than that.

Spike had earned it, as well. And if the Slayer’s child had such a fierce protector on its side as its father, its odds for survival were augmented.

“Which leads me back to my original question,” Giles said. “Do you know the particulars about Cordelia’s vision? I understood that they are quite accurate most of the time, and if this one was about Buffy, perhaps it’s best if we treat it with just a bit more care than joking about Angel’s choice of pants.”

Spike fell into a silence, turning away from the house to stare moodily up into the sky. Giles waited for him to speak, hoping that they would remain uninterrupted.

“Wasn’t too specific,” Spike finally said. “Seein’ as how none of them knew about the little one, they thought the way Buffy looked was a result of bein’ poisoned by some demon.”

“So, she was pregnant in the vision,” Giles mused.

“Yeah. The girl said she thought Buffy was the size of a house in it.”

He frowned. “Buffy’s certainly advanced, but I would hardly say that she’s as large as all that,” he said. “Perhaps the vision is further into the future.”

“Could be. Nothin’ happened out of the ordinary to her last night.”

“Any other details?”

“All’s he said was that it was dark. And Buffy was complaining about the light fizzling…out…”

The sudden distance in Spike’s eyes betrayed his thoughts. “What is it?” Giles prompted. “Did you remember something else?”

“No.” There was a long pause, and then he shook his head as if to clear it and repeated, this time with more force, “No.”

He was holding something back, but the stubborn set of Spike’s jaw was all Giles needed to know that nothing more would be forthcoming. Sighing, he straightened from his stance against the post.

“Well, if you think of anything else,” Giles said, “I’d appreciate it if you could let me know. It would be unfortunate if there was something I could do that might help keep Buffy safe and I missed the opportunity.”

He left Spike standing on the porch, hoping against hope that the indirect scolding of his last statement was enough to prod the vampire into sharing what he knew at a later date. In the meantime, Giles would satisfy his need to aid Buffy by keeping a closer eye on both her and Spike’s nocturnal adventures. Eventually, one of them would require assistance, and even if they weren’t going to ask for it, Giles was going to be there.

* * *

It was, perhaps, the loneliest Christmas he could remember having in nearly twenty years. Before Sunnydale, there had always been friends or girlfriends to spend the holidays with, and even longer ago, there had been Bernard and his determined need to expose young Robin Wood to the finer traditions of an English Christmas. Robin was the only kid he knew who celebrated Boxing Day; he remembered making that a literal translation with the other boys in the neighborhood who’d teased him about it.

But here on the Hellmouth, things were different. He’d been so determined to do good by Maggie that he’d been short making friends that semester. Outside of her, the only people he knew were students, and the only one he knew well was Buffy Summers. As strong as the urge to go see her was, he couldn’t. He couldn’t do much of anything. So, he drove around the streets of Sunnydale, watching the lights twinkle on the housefronts, wondering what festivities were going on behind the closed doors.

Somehow, he found himself on the outskirts of town, near the house he’d seen Willow go to the previous week. Glancing at the clock on the radio, Robin debated for only a second before angling the car in a new direction. Curiosity, he told himself as he neared the house. He was just satisfying his curiosity.

There were no cars in front of it as there had been before, but there, in the yard, was the stooped form of an elderly woman. She was tiny, bird-like, her skin like aged parchment left to fade in a forgotten cupboard. Her back was bowed in an identical arc to the woman he’d seen outlined in the curtains on his first visit, and he realized as he slowed the car to watch her that they were one and the same.

Then, she looked up. And when their dark eyes met, she smiled.

He pulled the car over without thinking. Maybe it was just because he was feeling the crunch of loneliness; he didn’t really know. But whatever reason, it didn’t seem right that someone of her experience should be alone on the holiday, too.

She was at his window before he could turn off the ignition. Black eyes bored into him as he slowly reached for the switch to roll the window down, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat when she spoke.

“I know you,” she said. Her voice cracked from her advancing years, but there was a clarity to it that told him she was more than in control of her faculties, in spite of the confusion of her statement.

“I’m sorry,” Robin said with an apologetic smile. “I don’t think so.”

“Yes, I do.” For a moment, she looked off to her left, and when her gaze returned to his face, there was a newfound certainty to be seen there. “You’re Nikki Wood’s son. Robin. Dreadful name. I have no idea what she was thinking when she named you.”

The announcement shook him, wiping the polite amusement from his face. “How did you know that?” he demanded. “Who are you?”

She ignored his question, tilting her head toward the house. “Would you care for a cup of tea?” she asked. “My jailors shouldn’t be back for a few hours yet. We can have a nice visit and…catch up on old times.”

She began walking away without waiting for an answer, leaving him staring at her retreating back in astonishment. Automatically, his fingers turned the keys in order to kill the engine.

Maybe he wasn’t as alone as he thought he was.

* * *

He deliberately waited until the wee hours of Boxing Day to check on the team he’d organized. Being the head of the Watcher’s Council afforded Quentin a certain latitude in his judgment calls, but the last thing he wished to do was bring Buffy Summers’ current condition to the Council’s attention. Control would slip through his fingers like running water then, and that was simply not acceptable. This was a delicate situation. It needed to be treated as such.

Though he had yet to return the call, Quentin was grateful that Robin Wood had gone to the lengths of contacting him the week previous. The question of why Robin would be interested in the current Slayer had had Travers investigate what exactly the young man was up to these days, which in turn led to the intelligence he’d received from Sunnydale. Part of him was angry with Wesley, Rupert, and Esme for failing to report on the Slayer’s pregnancy, but another understood completely why at least the Watchers had held their tongues. They had already made their allegiances to Buffy Summers all too clear; it made perfect sense that they would protect her privacy so vigorously.

Receiving the pre-natal records from the surgery Ms. Summers frequented had provoked Quentin’s more fervent interest. The dates she provided, confirmed by the physician in charge of her care, had the conception occurring while she had been stranded in nineteenth-century London. That meant William Freston was the father, and more importantly, that a dangerous vampire was about to gain a personal interest in the Slayer’s life, more so than he already had. Quentin was aware of his presence in Sunnydale, but until this point, had known that interference would cost him more than it would gain.

Now, the scales were tipped back in his favor. A baby was on the line. A baby that should not, by all things reasonable, even exist. A baby that provided a much simpler means for controlling the Slayer.

The organization of a team to go to the Hellmouth had been the next logical step. As he waited for the other end of the line to pick up, Quentin scanned the files of the operatives they would have in place, assuring himself that this time, they would avoid the Slayer’s detection. There would be no repeat of the incident at the bookstore last summer if he could help it.

“Hello?”

He smiled. He loved having this kind of control over his people, and the team leader’s eagerness to please Quentin only made it that much easier. “Hello, Lydia,” he said, his voice smooth. “Happy Boxing Day.”


	39. Eve's Apple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XCIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Willow and Spike are worried about the something going wonky with Willow’s protection spell, Travers has discovered the truth of Buffy’s pregnancy and taken action, and Robin has met Esme for the first time…

The interior of the house wasn’t what Robin was expecting. Books were stacked everywhere, leaning against the wall, tucked beneath the coffee table, even along the mantle where pictures would normally be. They ran the gamut, from old to new, some with leather covers, some without covers at all. There was no other decoration, not even a lace doily to betray his hostess’ age.

He couldn’t help his smile as he sat in one of the clear corners of the plush sectional. In a lot of ways, it felt like walking into Bernard’s old place back in New York.

“Are you a Watcher?” he asked, his eyes scanning the titles of the books at his side.

“God forbid, no,” came the reply.

Her voice was hollow, and Robin glanced up to see he was alone in the room. The sound of clinking china from the next room made him lean sideways to peer through the kitchen entrance, where he could see her pouring out the tea she’d promised. The counter seemed too high for her tiny stature, and he immediately rose to his feet to go and help.

“Thank you,” she said when he took the pot from her hand. Her smile was warm. “I can see that Bernard raised you properly.” Without preamble, she walked back to the living room. Robin got a feeling she was accustomed to having people do as she said without question.

“If you’re not a Watcher, how is it you know about my mother and Bernard?” he asked, following after her.

“A long association with the Council.” She paused, thinking for a long moment as she settled into an empty chair. “Very long. Some might say… _too_ long.”

His curiosity was eating at him, but before he could ask anything else, there was one detail he needed to know. “I’m sorry, but I’m a bit of a disadvantage here. I don’t even know your name---.”

“Esme. Though I’d imagine that won’t mean much to you. I’m one of those deep, dark secrets Quentin is so fond of keeping.” She hesitated, her eyes suddenly narrowing, and Robin couldn’t escape the feeling of a bug being pinned beneath a microscope. “You’re not here because of Quentin, are you?” she asked carefully. “He didn’t send you to check up on me?”

He shook his head. “I’m not sure Mr. Travers even knows I’m in Sunnydale,” he admitted. “I called him a few days before Christmas, but I haven’t heard back from him yet. He’s probably too busy celebrating the holiday.”

She laughed, a dry, coarse sound. “That would require Quentin to actually believe he could be spared from saving the world. I’m afraid his delusions of self-importance often get the better of him.” Sipping at her tea, her regard remained steady. “If you’re not here because of the Council, then, how _did_ you happen upon my doorstep, young man? And there’s no point in trying to tell me you didn’t specifically come here to see me. I’m old, but I’m far from stupid.”

Robin nodded. That was a conclusion he’d already reached. “We have a mutual friend,” he said. “Willow Rosenberg.”

The announcement had a much stronger effect than he anticipated. Esme straightened, her eyes growing alert again, and she set down her teacup so that she could steady herself on the arm of the chair. “You’re friends with young Willow?” she asked. “That means you’re friends with Buffy. How interesting.”

“You… _know_ Buffy?” He needed to tread carefully. None of Buffy’s acquaintances were aware of his knowledge of her calling. There was a possibility that Esme didn’t, either, though considering she’d identified him without a second thought, he highly doubted it.

“The son of a Slayer befriending the active Slayer,” she mused. “Well, isn’t that rather incestuous. And ironic, don’t you think?”

“Ironic…how?”

“William the Bloody kills your mother, and now you’re friends with the Slayer he’s in love with. Perhaps unfortunate is a better word.”

His blood went cold at both her casual mention of his mother’s death and the vampire’s feelings for Buffy. “How do you know that?” he demanded, all pretense at niceties now fled. “I was always told they didn’t know _who_ killed my mother.”

“Well, of course, they would tell you that,” Esme said. “It wouldn’t do to have you getting yourself killed by going after him yourself, now would it? Quentin would have a coronary considering the repercussions of that within the Board.”

“I wouldn’t---.”

A wave of her hand cut him off. “Don’t demean both of us by lying, Robin. You have angry young man written all you. Which begs the question…why haven’t you done anything about his presence here in Sunnydale? Not afraid of him, are you?”

His jaw clenched, and he had to set down his cup in order not to break it. “It’s not that easy,” he said. “Buffy’s pregnancy---.”

“Buffy’s _what_?”

It was her turn to be shocked, and she sat there in silence as Robin related what little he knew. While he spoke, her eyes grew wider, her mouth forming a tiny o. If he looked closely enough, he would’ve thought she was literally salivating at the new information.

“I’ve got to be wrong, though,” he finished. “Vampires can’t have children. Bernard didn’t lie to me about _that_.”

“You’re right,” Esme said. “They can’t. But William was not a vampire when this happened.” His confusion must have shown in his face because she smiled in condescension. “I suggest you relax, Robin. I have quite the story to tell you.”

* * *

Havi didn’t think she could ever grow weary of the stories these young people told. As she sat on the floor, leaning back between Xander’s legs and listening to them joke and laugh as they recounted holidays past, a sense of longing began to settle in the pit of her stomach, something warm and hollow that made her want to sigh repeatedly. Though there were similarities in their current lives to her own, most of what they told was alien to her. The families. The camaraderie. The closeness. It was bittersweet to hear.

When he wasn’t talking, Xander’s fingers lingered near her neck, brushing across her piercings every so often as he stroked her shoulders. His fascination with the adornment amused her; when they’d made love, he’d spent an inordinate amount of time licking and tracing the studs, joking about how he would have to consider getting something pierced as well so that they matched. She’d refrained from telling him they were her badge to wear as a Protector. She thought it would’ve spoiled the mood.

Spike was the only one who didn’t join in the merriment. His demeanor didn’t detract from the pervading good mood, but Havi found it impossible not to notice the extra attention he seemed to be paying the Slayer. Normally, the touch of his hand on her stomach was gentle, almost unconscious. Tonight, however, he had Buffy secure in his arms, encircling her waist as if daring someone to try and take her away. It was confusing.

When he followed the Slayer into the kitchen for drink refills, Havi disassociated from the ongoing conversation to see if she could hear anything come from the other room. She was disappointed when, for once, their voices never rose, and they returned to the living room just as they had left it.

“…don’t you think, Havi?”

She snapped from her fugue to see Willow looking at her expectantly. “I’m sorry,” Havi said. “What did you say?”

“My magic,” Willow elaborated. “Nobody’s been torched lately, and I think my sessions with Esme are going really well. I was just saying that I think I can seriously start thinking about taking over some of Buffy’s patrolling duties, but I seem to be a party of one on that side. You think I’m ready, don’t you?”

She could feel Xander tensing behind her, his fingers still where once they’d been active. They had discussed this in private, or rather, Xander had talked about how worried he was about Willow and Havi had listened. Havi knew he thought the magic was a bad, bad thing---as he so often repeated---but her opinion differed. She had merely refrained from sharing that opinion until now.

Everybody looked at her in anticipation of her agreement with the group. Licking her lips, Havi lifted her chin and met Willow’s eyes directly, saying, “I think you are more than ready. You have great power in you. I told you that when we first met, remember?”

The others deflated even as Willow’s smile beamed.

“Maybe you’re not seeing the whole picture,” Xander said, easing off the couch to sit next to Havi. “Let’s say, Willow does go out and patrol on her own. And let’s say she runs into a whole slew of vampires straight away. Only they’re not on their own. Some of those military guys are there, rounding them up. Are you trying to tell us that you _really_ think Willow can take down the vampires, without turning her own personal flamethrower on the all-too-human commando guys, and still not get herself killed?”

She regarded him solemnly before turning to meet Willow’s nervous gaze. “Can you control your emotions so that the fires don’t happen any longer?” she asked. When Willow nodded, her eyes slid back to Xander. “Then, yes. I do think that.”

“It’s not quite as simple as you might think,” Giles started, his tone gentle.

“And I do not believe it as difficult as you make it out to be,” she countered.

“Havi---.”

“No.” Though she was quick to cut Xander off, she did it as gently as she could without betraying her gravity on this issue. “I have been keeping my silence on the subject of Willow and her power ever since I arrived in Sunnydale. I have obeyed your wishes, but I fail to see why this deceit needs to continue. The Guardians are very patient, but even they are starting to question the delay when they see Willow growing stronger every day. I think it is time she is told.”

“Told me what?” Willow asked.

“Don’t know why you’re all surprised,” Spike said. “This is what Studs has been gunnin’ for since she got here. The lot of you are just too blind to it ‘cause she’s human.” The sweeping look he swept over her was disdainful. “Though I wonder ‘bout that, too, sometimes.”

“I have not been gunning for this,” Havi argued.

“Told me what?” Willow tried again.

For the first time that day, Spike broke away from Buffy to stand in front of Havi, feet apart, hands stuffed defiantly in his pockets. “If Harris and Rupert don’t think Red’s ready,” he said, his voice almost a growl, “then she’s not ready.”

It was impossible not to rise to the threat that Spike presented. Leaping to her feet, Havi squared off with him, eye to eye, grateful both that she was a tall woman and that he was not a tall man.

“There is a grander scheme here than you could ever imagine,” she said. It was taking all her control not to punch him in the face. “You might have garnered Rose’s trust with your pursuits for the truth, but I am not so easily swayed by your efforts, Spike.”

“No, you’re just a backstabbing bitch who thinks that a few months of having Harris wound ‘round her little finger gives you a place with this bunch.”

“Hey!” Xander cried out.

Though he rose to stand next to her, Havi was too angry now to give Xander much added notice. Spike always seemed to infuriate her with only the slightest of provocations, and the fact that he could spew such hateful things just meant that all his fronts of a truce were false.

“I would not be so hasty with such words,” she hissed. “Being the father of the Slayer’s child does not grant you immunity from responsibility for your actions.”

“Never said it did. But so long as we’re speakin’ of actions---.”

“Stop!”

The walls shook, the ornaments on the Christmas tree rattling from the forceful waves of Willow’s command. The insurgence of heat through her flesh made Havi waver where she stood, and she reached out to cling to Xander for balance, just as he did the same with her.

Only Willow remained unfazed by the blast, sitting cross-legged in front of the fireplace, glowering at everyone before her. Havi amended her assumption of casualties when she saw Oz tensed behind the young witch, also untouched.

“I believe that resolves the question of her readiness,” Giles said, his voice shaky.

“It doesn’t resolve anything,” Willow argued. “You guys got exactly what I wanted you to get. You’re all talking about me, and I don’t know what the hell is going on, and Havi and Spike can’t go two seconds without turning into five-year-olds, and will somebody _please_ tell me what you’re all arguing about? Because it sounds to me that I’m the only one not in the know here and it’s _really_ starting to piss me off.”

Havi’s mouth opened to speak, but the tightening of Xander’s hand around her arm stifled her voice.

“It’s not that big of a deal, Will,” he said. He had that soothing tone that he always adopted when he was trying to smoothtalk his way out of a problem with one of his female friends, and Havi rolled her eyes at his obviousness. What was even sadder was that, most of the time, Buffy and Willow fell for it.

Except…maybe not this time.

“It’s a big enough deal for Spike to butt in,” she countered. “Spike never butts in on stuff that’s not Buffy-related.” She shot the vampire an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Spike, but it’s true.”

“We were only thinking of you, Willow,” Giles said. “When Havi arrived in town, you were…less than in control.”

“And now I’m more than in control. So.” Her features firmed, her arms folding across her chest defiantly. “Talk.”

* * *

Willow wore her best resolve face, but the more she listened, the more she felt like she had to look like Cletus the Slack-Jawed Yokel.

A Guardian? Really? Little Willow Rosenberg who just two months earlier was fighting not to turn her nearest and dearest into roasted marshmallows? They wanted _her_?

It was like when she met Oz, and those scary suits had said they’d had their eye on her, and wanted her to be all corporate computer girl. Exciting and tremendously flattering, but a little creepy. And heavy on the _oh my god you have to be kidding_ ’s.

She had to bite the inside of her cheek not to say that part out loud.

“Please do not think you don’t have a choice,” Havi finished. “The Guardians only wish your alliance if you are fully committed to the task. But you must know, they have the utmost confidence that you would make a fine addition. Your powers are quite formidable.”

“But…” She had to swallow; her throat was parched. “…those are really Esme’s powers. I just have them on a kind of a loaner.”

“That’s not really something you’re going to be paying back,” Oz commented at her side.

“They _are_ yours,” Havi reiterated. “You have taken a potentially dangerous situation and molded it to fit safely within your life. Your control over the magic is firm---.”

“Well, I don’t think I’d qualify it as _that_ ,” Giles murmured.

“If you don’t believe me,” Havi continued, “then perhaps you will believe the Guardians themselves. I can arrange for you to meet with them if you like. Perhaps they can allay your concerns better than I can.”

Rumblings of surprise echoed around Willow, but she was still caught up in the whole magnitude of the initial suggestion. “How could you do that?” she asked. “It’s not more magic, is it?”

Havi smiled, shaking her head. “No, it’s merely a walk. And some climbing. And a ritual to call them at the journey’s end.”

“So maybe, a little bit more than _just_ a walk,” Xander commented.

“Are they local?” Buffy asked. “How come I’ve never heard of this before now?”

“They keep their presence very private,” Havi said. “But they are where they are required to be.”

“And I’d just have to talk to them?” Willow asked.

“Yes, that is all.”

Oz wrapped his arm around her waist, tugging her closer against him. “I can go with you if you want,” he said. “For moral support. I’d offer athletic support, but that could just get messy.”

Willow already had her mouth open to accept his offer when she saw Havi shaking her head.

“You can’t,” Havi said. “The ground is hallowed. Only a select few can travel it safely. Protectors, Guardians, those of the Slayer line. You understand.”

“What about Watchers?” Giles asked. “Surely I would be included in that list.”

“No, you’re not. The Guardians exist solely to protect the Slayer line and keep an eye on the Council. To allow Watchers to walk among them so freely would be counter to their purpose.”

“Nobody’s telling you to make a decision right away,” Xander said. “In fact, I think some heavy thinking might be in order on this one.”

She had to agree with him. As Willow asked Havi for time to consider the proposal and the conversation shifted away from the Guardians and back to eggnog, all she could hear was the resounding refrain of the original offer.

_“You can make a difference in this world,” Havi had said. “As one of the Guardians, you would have no reason to question your ability to patrol. You would be just as powerful an ally for the side of good as the Slayer.”_

It was tempting. Sorely tempting.

She could make a difference, a real one.

* * *

When Buffy yawned for the second time in five minutes, Spike decided enough was enough.

“Nobody’s goin’ to throw a fuss if you go to bed,” he said, leaning forward to whisper the words directly into her ear. “You’re sleepin’ for two, you know.”

“Just a few more minutes,” she replied, just as quietly. Snuggling back against his chest, Buffy closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her body nestling into his. “Not really looking forward to Schmoo’s nightly calisthenics. This is much nicer.”

His arms stilled where he’d been tightening his hold. “What’s that?” he asked carefully.

“Oh, you know. I go to sleep, and Schmoo decides to wake up and do the cha-cha on my bladder. Really takes the fun out of sleeping, let me tell you.”

The worry about Willow’s spell came rushing back to the fore, and Spike had to fight to keep his voice low. “Have you talked to the doc about that? Could be, there’s something he could do about it.”

Buffy chuckled. “Yeah, he’ll welcome me to the world of pregnant women around the globe. It’s perfectly natural, Spike. When I’m awake, my moving around puts the baby to sleep, so when I go to bed, there’s none of the usual rocking Schmoo gets to keep it relaxed.” She twisted to look back at him. “You’re the one who gave me the book I read it in. Didn’t you even read it yourself?”

He had. But in the excitement of the past few days, he’d forgotten that detail.

“Still,” he said, “that’s not an excuse for not gettin’ the sleep you need. My spat with Studs this mornin’ put a kibosh on that happening last night, so---.”

“Fine, fine, I’m going.” Her disappointed moue was interrupted by another yawn, after which she blushed in embarrassment. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“Get used to it.” He accepted her light kiss and let her escape his hold for the first time that night, watching as she bade good night to her friends and family. The others used the opportunity as an excuse to make their own exits, and soon, it was just Joyce left in the room, smiling wearily at him as she started to tidy the dishes that had been left behind.

“Well, at least Buffy and her friends are never boring,” she said, picking up Xander’s empty plate from the floor.

Spike was there before she could straighten. “Let me do this,” he offered. “You’ve done enough today.”

“Thank you.” Letting him take what was in her hands, Joyce regarded him for a long moment, only just moving out of his way when he set to the rest of the cleaning. “Is it too hard having Havi around?” she asked suddenly.

He almost dropped the plates at the unexpectedness of the question. “What’s bringing this up all of a sudden?”

“Not all of a sudden. I’ve been thinking about it for awhile now.” She sat on the edge of the couch, her gaze contemplative. “I think today’s all the proof we need to see that you and she aren’t really getting along any better.”

“I didn’t mean---.”

“No, I know you didn’t,” Joyce interrupted. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not going to happen. And Buffy doesn’t need the added stress right now. She’s entering the hardest part of her pregnancy, Spike. She’s going to be irritable, and she’s going to be distracted, and the last thing she needs is to be refereeing you and Havi.”

His stomach plummeted. Turning his back on her, Spike concentrated on clearing up, hoping that would both stave away his impending sense of doom and stop Joyce from seeing how shaken he was by her statements.

“It’s different with Buffy bein’ home from school, too,” he said out loud. He hated saying the words. He didn’t want to be the big man about this. He wanted to scream and shout and say he was more family than Havi ever would be and he shouldn’t have to be the one to bloody leave.

But a scene with her mother would only upset Buffy. There was too much other rubbish going on to add to the pile so unnecessarily.

He couldn’t go against Joyce’s wishes, either. He owed her a little more respect than that.

“So, do you think you could talk to Xander?”

The question was almost as out of the blue as her first. “Why would I need to talk to him?” Spike asked.

“Well, I was just thinking he hates living at home, and if you or Oz talked to him about the benefits of having his own place---.”

“You want me to live with _Harris_?” He stared at her in shock, aware that his voice had risen dramatically but really not caring in the face of her demand. “You’ve got to be bloody kiddin’ me! We’d kill each other before the first night was through! Hell, I’m pretty sure I’d kill him the first time he opened his mouth.”

“I never…” She stopped, her mouth crooking into a smile. “I was talking about Havi, not you, Spike. Trust me. I’m well aware of just what a bad idea it would be if you and Xander became roommates.”

He instantly deflated, astonishment replacing his anger. “You’d let me stay over Studs?” he asked.

“Well, yes.” She seemed confused by his disbelief. “You’re family now. And when the baby comes, Buffy’s going to need as much help as she can get. That’s easier if you’re actually here.”

“I just figured…” He shook his head, continuing his path out to the kitchen. “I’m just knackered,” Spike said when Joyce followed him. “Not thinkin’ straight. Never mind me.”

“It’s been a long day. Christmas has this way of doing that to you. It’s a good thing it only happens once a year.” She stood next to him at the sink and rested a gentle hand on his arm. “And I wanted to say thank you again for bringing Buffy home. That was the best gift I got all day.”

He kept his smile hidden until she’d left the room, waiting until he heard the floorboards creak upstairs before easing the tension in his shoulders. Joyce was right about one thing. It _had_ been a long day, with too many surprises and worries popping up around every corner, in spite of Buffy’s blind spot to the contrary. He’d get a good night’s sleep and try to suss it all out in the morning, hopefully without the Slayer catching on to what was wrong.

Spike just hoped that nothing more came out of the woodwork to try and muck it up for him.

* * *

The apartment was too hot when he pushed open the door, but Robin wasn’t even aware of the excess warmth as he dropped his car keys on the hall table. His thoughts were elsewhere. They currently resided back in a small house with a little old lady who knew far too much about far too many things, dancing around subjects that made nightmares more welcome than the truth that now yawned before him.

William the Bloody really was going to be a father. The vampire who’d slaughtered his own mother was now bringing his own children into this world, poised, very likely, to teach the same corrupt philosophies that guided his own existence. It didn’t matter that the mother was Buffy Summers. Robin was convinced that once the baby was born, Spike would abscond with the child, never to be heard from again. It was the ultimate trophy, and Spike, the ultimate hunter.

He was on his knees in the bathroom, throwing up the cold remnants of the tea he’d had at Esme’s, before the disgust could settle. Nothing about this was right, not the pregnant Slayer, not the vampire who professed some undying romantic love all because a witch miscalculated in dealing with her enemies, not a Council who hid the truth from him when it was all too knowing of the identity of his mother’s murderer. In spite of the fact that he finally had the answers he’d always sought, Robin couldn’t help but wish that he’d refused Maggie’s offer of employment and stayed the hell away from Sunnydale. Ignorance would’ve been bliss in this particular scenario. And coming from a man who believed in the power of education, that was saying a hell of a lot.

His answering machine had clicked on by the time he became aware of the ringing telephone, and Robin wiped at his mouth as he staggered back to the living room. He stared at the small machine on his desk, listening to his electronic voice request a message, but when the beep came and the familiar cadences of Quentin Travers filled the room, Robin leapt to pick up the phone.

“I’m here,” he said hastily. “Sorry. I was…in the bathroom.”

It was the truth, but Robin was reluctant to admit it to the Council Head, knowing Quentin’s penchant for decorum at all costs. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the headache that was determined to take over, and listened to what the other man had to say.

“…surprised to hear from you, actually,” Quentin commented. “It’s been some time. Last I heard, you were just finishing your degree, and now you’re in…Sunnydale?”

“That’s right,” Robin said smoothly. “My old mentor asked me to be her assistant this year, and I thought California weather would make a nice change from those awful New York winters.”

Quentin made one of those sounds in the back of his throat, but it was impossible to tell if it was in agreement or something else. “I assume the reason you called about the Slayer is because you saw her on campus.”

“Actually, I had her in one of my classes this past semester.”

“Oh? I would’ve thought…never mind.”

But Robin knew what he’d been about to say, and pressed on the subject. It was, after all, the reason he’d called Travers in the first place.

“She’s only six months or so along,” he said. “She was hardly an invalid.”

He could just see the old man leaning back in his big leather chair, contemplating what Robin had just confirmed. “Is that why you called?” Quentin asked. “Because you were concerned about a Slayer having a child?”

“No, sir, because…” It was pointless to pretend he didn’t know. “…of who the child’s father is.”

There was a long silence, and if it wasn’t for the sound of Quentin’s breathing, Robin would’ve thought he’d lost the connection.

“I see,” Travers finally said. “Understandable, certainly. He’s there, I presume?”

His jaw twitched just imagining Spike in Buffy’s dorm room. “Yes.”

“I’m glad you called me, actually. It’s good to hear that you care enough about the Slayer’s wellbeing to bring me your concerns.”

“Well, that’s not exactly---.”

“It’s important we do what we must to fight the good fight, of course. Tell me, Robin. Beyond your teaching, what are you doing these days?”

He felt like a child being called on the carpet. “I haven’t had a lot of time for patrolling since I came to Sunnydale,” he said slowly.

“Shame.” The single word was practically dripping with disapproval. “Well, there are other ways you can prove your loyalty, to be sure. In fact, I have just the idea in mind.”

Robin listened to the proposal in silence, his brows drawing closer and darker as Travers spoke. By the end of it, his head was pounding in full force, and he sighed as he sagged onto the couch.

“I’ll have to get back to you, sir,” he said. “I just…I don’t know.”

“Think about it,” Travers said. “That’s all I ask. I trust you to do the right thing, Robin. You always were a smart boy.”

The dial tone that followed made him want to throw the phone against the wall.


	40. Call Not Me to Justify the Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXXXIX.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Willow and Spike are worried about the something going wonky with Willow’s protection spell, Travers has discovered the truth of Buffy’s pregnancy and taken action, and Robin has met Esme for the first time…

Crisp sunlight made the world seem sharper around the edges as Buffy and Joyce walked up the path to the doctor’s office. Fading Christmas decorations still hung from the streetlamps, ready to be removed and mourn the passing of another holiday, but already a handyman was dragging a ladder around the building to get to work on it, the faint whistling of Jingle Bells under his breath.

He reached the front door before the women did and set aside his tools to pull it open for them. “Good morning,” he said brightly, nodding in greeting as they entered past him.

“Good morning,” Joyce replied in kind.

Buffy just smiled. Her thoughts and emotions were elsewhere.

“Do you think Spike’s been acting a little weird since we got back from LA?” she asked her mom after they’d checked in with the receptionist.

Joyce sighed, picking up a dog-eared copy of “People” from the coffee table. “Oh, no,” she said. “I am not going through this again. If you’re having issues with Spike’s behavior, honey, tell him, not me.” She shook her head. “I swear, you two are going to have me gray before this baby ever shows up.”

Buffy scrunched up her nose in confusion. “What are we doing?”

“You mean, other than trying to second guess _every_ thought and issue the other has without bothering to ask each other what might be going on? If you two are serious about making this relationship work, Buffy, you have to start being serious about communicating. With each other.” There was a pause, and when her mother spoke again, there was something sad in her. “Take it from someone who’s got firsthand experience with that. Communication is the key.”

Guilt flooded through Buffy. “You’re right,” she conceded. “But…did you hear him pushing me to make this appointment? It was way weird.”

“You’re six months pregnant and you were in a major fight on Christmas Eve. That’s not weird. That’s being concerned about you and the baby.”

“And the hanging out with Willow and Oz?”

This time, Joyce set the magazine down in her lap, her finger marking her page. “Spike has friends now,” she said. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Well, yes---.”

“Let it go.”

They lapsed into silence. Buffy knew her mom had a point---well, actually, she had a lot of them---but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was going on. There was something Spike didn’t want to talk about. He’d alternated between fiercely protective and distracted ever since they got back from Los Angeles, and not even a phone call from Angel to check on how Buffy was doing had managed to shake Spike out of it. To top it off, he’d been gone before she had even gotten up this morning, leaving a note saying that he hoped the appointment went well and that he’d be over at Oz’s if she needed him.

He was up to something. She recognized sneaky when she saw it. She just had to figure out what exactly the sneaky was all about.

“Buffy Summers?”

Automatically, she rose to her feet, following the nurse who’d called her name down the hall to the examination room.

She’d figure it out right after Schmoo let her know everything was OK.

* * *

“It’s not the spell,” Willow said. She sat cross-legged on the floor, Oz perched on the edge of the bed behind her. Though her face was pinched, her eyes were huge and followed Spike as he paced around the room.

“You sure about that?” Spike asked. “You checked everything that could’ve gone wrong?”

“Checked, double-checked, _and_ triple-checked. The spell is doing exactly what I told it to. It has to be something about the baby.”

“But the bloody thing’s not due for three more months!” he raged. Without thinking, his fist slammed into the wall, shattering a jagged hole in the plasterboard.

“You know I’m out of Jimi Hendrix posters to put up over the holes you keep making,” Oz commented.

Spike mumbled an apology under his breath, shaking the loose dust from his hand, but Willow was more concerned with the agitation that was still wound through him. She watched him resume pacing, muscles so tightly corded in his forearms that she sat rigid, expecting more blows to fall on Oz’s unsuspecting furniture.

“What about what Angel’s vision girl said?” Spike demanded. “Buffy complains about the light fizzling out in it, and you used the exact same word to describe what the spell _wasn’t_ doin’. What the hell does that mean?”

“It means Buffy actually listens to me sometimes,” Willow countered. “It’s just a word, Spike. There’s nothing significant about it.”

He was already shaking his head before she finished. “There’s no such thing as a coincidence on the Hellmouth,” he said.

“Well, technically, Cordelia’s in LA,” Oz offered.

“Why don’t you wait until you hear from Buffy?” Willow suggested. “Maybe it’s something simple like…her blood pressure is up, or the baby’s growing too…” Her voice trailed off when Oz’s hands tightened almost imperceptibly on her shoulders, and she realized she wasn’t helping matters any. “Let’s just wait and see,” she finished.

“All I do any more is wait,” Spike muttered. He collapsed into Oz’s lone chair, slouching so that his neck rested on its back and he was staring blindly up at the ceiling. “Bloody useless, I am.”

“You’re not useless.” She said it without thinking, but even without his snort of disbelief, Willow knew it was the truth. “We both know that’s William talking.”

“Yeah, well, William wasn’t always wrong, Red.”

She didn’t know what to say to him when he got like this. More and more, as Buffy’s pregnancy progressed, Spike was obsessing about his effectiveness in her life. Their issues with Christmas had just been symptomatic of the greater problem, but Willow had hoped that their getaway to Los Angeles would give them the time to work it through. All it had done, however, was introduce even more worry. Worry that was partially her fault because it was her spell that wasn’t acting the way anybody expected.

“Not that sloth isn’t my favorite deadly sin,” Oz suddenly said, “but maybe we want to consider doing something other than sitting around talking about all of this.”

Spike looked up at that, dark brows drawn together into a thick line. “Thought we’d already sussed there wasn’t anything we could do about Buffy right now,” he said warily.

“Maybe not directly.”

As Oz spoke, Willow twisted to look back at him in amazement. She’d known he and Spike were making certain deals in the demon community to help Buffy out, but they’d always been recalcitrant in sharing details. Now, hearing some of her boyfriend’s suggestions---and worse, seeing Spike’s reactions---made her more than a little nervous.

“Buffy won’t like that,” she interrupted before Spike could give his yay or nay. Actually, she was fairly sure it was going to be a yay. He was leaning so far forward, rapt with Oz’s words, that his butt was barely on the chair anymore.

“You mean, like she probably wouldn’t like knowin’ about your little protection spell?” Spike countered.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” She wagged her finger at him. “You liked that idea just as much as I did. I’m not the only culprit there.”

“Still your mojo that did the work.” He grinned. “ _And_ you’re the one with the soul. It’s your job to talk me out of such daft ideas when I come up with them. I’m the morally ambiguous one of the bunch, remember?”

He was so proud of his logic, he was preening. Willow had to curl her hands into balls in order to stifle the itch to zap him with a little fireball just to knock the smug smile off his face.

“Fine,” she said tightly. “I won’t say anything. But I still think that if she finds out you’re actually _encouraging_ the demon community to find the vigilante guys, she’s going to skin you alive. And don’t try telling me your insides are just as pretty as your out, because that’s just gross.”

“You know we’re going to need Xander’s help,” Oz said to Spike, getting back to the topic.

That did the trick to destroy the return of the vampire’s good mood. “Why’s that?” he demanded. “Harris will just bugger up anything we do.”

“He has military experience.”

“He’s _human_. Demons’ll be all over him.” Spike paused, considering. “That part’s not so bad.”

“I’m human.”

“You’re a werewolf. The community can sniff that out on you. Why do you think you’ve got as far as you have in our deals?”

“I still think we need him.”

Willow watched the rest of the argument between the two rage on in silence until finally Spike sighed melodramatically and slumped back into his chair.

“Fine,” he grumbled. “But the first time he makes a crack about the color of my car, I’m tossin’ him out the window.”

It was a truce only Oz could’ve orchestrated. As Willow settled back against his legs again, she let her thoughts stray from the plans they went on to make to the proposal Havi had made about meeting with the Guardians. If Xander was going to be off with the guys on their demon duties, maybe that would be a good time for Willow to take her up on the hiking trip. It wasn’t making a decision, she told herself; it was getting answers. Answers were always good.

* * *

Even with the Cartoon Network blaring on the Summers’ television, Xander couldn’t keep his eyes from straying to the front door of the house. When it finally opened inward, though, he slouched back into the couch and pretended that he hadn’t noticed.

Havi frowned as she came into the living room. “Xander?” she asked. “What are you doing here? I thought we wouldn’t be meeting until later.”

“I got some news about the apartment,” he replied. Casually, he hit the power on the remote and shifted so that he faced her, though he didn’t rise to his feet. “Where’ve you been?”

It was asked with careful nonchalance, but the moment the words came from his mouth, he saw the flicker in her dark eyes. “I had errands to run,” she said. Turning on her heel, she headed for the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?”

What he wanted was a straight answer. “No, I’m fine.” As Havi left the room anyway, Xander realized that his voice sounded like his dad’s, right before he was going to blow. He buried his head in his hands. This was already going both exactly like he’d thought it would and how he’d wished it wouldn’t. He didn’t want to make it worse by losing his temper.

It had started when he’d come over to tell Havi that he’d heard back from the apartment manager. The prospect of sharing a place with her was both thrilling and terrifying, but he was steaming forward on the plan, full speed ahead. Even his dad was on board, though Xander had had to listen to his derogatory remarks about Havi’s questionable moral ethics for “shacking up” with a guy so quickly for over two hours. Mom had cried, and then came down to the basement after his dad had passed out to give him an envelope of cash.

“Don’t tell him I gave you this,” she’d warned, referring to his father.

“Mom, I don’t need---.”

“It’s yours anyway,” she’d insisted. “When we cleaned out…” She’d paused, guilt making her soft face seem even softer. “…last summer, we couldn’t get all those comic books of yours up into the attic so your father took them down to the store and sold them. The money’s yours, honey. Just take it.”

So he did. Though Havi was insistent that she had enough money until he was working more steadily, Xander liked that he wasn’t completely reliant on her finances for this new direction in their relationship. Then, this morning, the call had come that they could have the apartment after the first if they wanted.

Except when Xander came over to give Havi the good news, she was already on her way out. He’d seen Joyce’s SUV disappear around the corner and followed, thinking he would meet up with her wherever she was heading.

The last place he’d expected it to be was the hospital.

His hands were knotted together in front of him when she returned from the kitchen holding two Cokes. “I thought---,” she started, but then stopped when their eyes met. Though he didn’t say a word, he could see her recognize his mood, and she took a step backward, setting the cans of soda down.

“Is the news bad?” she asked.

The innocent question made him want to laugh. “We’ve got the apartment,” he said, and then added, “If we want it.”

Havi brightened. “But that’s…” Her smile faded just as quickly as it had appeared. “ _If_ we want it?”

He couldn’t do the tiptoeing around the subject any more. He’d given her a chance to tell him on her own, and she’d deliberately chosen to avoid the truth.

“You went to the hospital,” Xander said. It hurt to look at her. After everything he’d done defending her to Spike and everybody else, he felt like a fool for believing her so blindly. “Was it to see _him_?”

Her dark eyes went wide at the bitterness of his tone, and she slowly folded onto the couch behind her. “It’s not what you think,” she said.

“And you’ve got special x-ray vision that lets you get my thoughts in Technicolor and surround sound, is that it?”

“I just---.”

“You’ve just been sneaking around to your abusive ex-boyfriend while pretending to care about me and the rest of us,” he interrupted. “Gee, I can’t _imagine_ why you and Buffy don’t get along better. The two of you are exactly the same.”

It was clear she didn’t understand what he was talking about, but Xander didn’t care. He just had this overwhelming urge to make her hurt as badly as he did.

“You said it was over between the two of you,” he continued. His voice was rising, and he was really glad Mrs. Summers wasn’t around to hear him. “Obviously, you were lying---.”

“I wasn’t!”

“So, this was just a little Christmas present for him, is that it?” He shook his head. “Don’t lie to me, Havi. Not any more. I called the hospital. They said you’ve been coming to see him ever since he got admitted.”

Xander’s rising anger wasn’t quailing Havi. Instead, she bristled under the attack, standing up stiffly to stare down at him at her full height.

“I am not discussing this with you,” she said. “You fail to understand the depth of the situation here.”

He grabbed her before she could leave, forcing her to turn around and face him. His face was hot, and Xander could feel sweat starting to trickle down the back of his neck. It made his collar itch.

“You’re right,” he said. “I _do_ fail to understand. I fail to understand how you could keep me in the dark about this when I’ve been busting my tail making sure you got an even break with the gang. I _fail_ to _understand_ why you’d feel any kind of sympathy for that guy at all after what he did to you. But most of all, I fail to understand why you thought you had to lie to me about this all these months when I was the first one to believe in you, Havi. What happened to all those things you said? The feelings? I thought…”

His plan to make her ache as badly as he did was failing. Xander couldn’t get past the tightness in his throat to finish what he wanted to say.

The silence that separated them was the deepest gorge he’d ever felt. “Baltozar is alone in this world,” Havi finally said. Her voice was lower, all emotion stripped from her face. She was closing off. That was never a good sign. “I merely…I had to know. That he was being taken care of.”

“He’s in a _hospital_. Surprise surprise, that’s their _job_ , Havi.”

“I told you that you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh, I understand, all right. I understand that you used me to get Willow to trust you.”

“I didn’t---.”

“Then tell me I’m wrong.” Beneath his anger, a note of pleading crept into his voice. “Tell me what I’m not getting here. Tell me that you care about me enough to stop seeing him. ”

She didn’t answer him. She just stared at him with those dark, dark eyes. He’d always thought he could drown in those eyes, but now, all he could see was the wall she’d put between them.

“Don’t think I’m going to let you hurt Willow,” Xander said. Letting Havi go, he slid around her without touching, heading for the front door. “Just because I fell for your act, doesn’t mean I’m going to let her do the same thing.”

“It wasn’t an act,” she said, but it was so quiet that he almost doubted he heard it right.

With his hand on the door knob, he paused, shaking his head. “You know what the worst of this is?” he said, unable to even glance in her direction. “Spike was right. There’s no way he’s ever going to let me hear the end of this when he finds out.”

He made sure the door slammed shut behind him.

* * *

The quiet knock at her door surprised Maggie. The campus was deserted; she’d deliberately chosen to work in her office for the privacy she knew she would get. So, to have someone arrive unannounced was surprising to say the least.

Rather than risk letting just anybody in, Maggie closed the Initiative file on the Slayer she’d been reviewing and tucked it inside a drawer before rising to answer the door. Her brows lifted when she opened it and saw Robin on the other side.

“You weren’t at home,” he said as if in apology.

“Because I’m here,” she said with a smile. She stepped aside to allow him to enter, locking the door behind him once he was in. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to talk to you about Buffy Summers.”

Excited anticipation made her step more brisk, and Maggie slid back into her chair with a bright gleam in her eye. “You’ve been able to get through to her? I knew using your heritage---.”

“Actually, I haven’t seen Buffy since finals.” He hadn’t taken the seat she’d offered. Instead, Robin hung near the door, his hands stuffed deep into his pockets. She could see him playing with his pockets’ contents as he looked anywhere but at her. “I hate to do this to you, Maggie, but---.”

“You’re backing out.” Disappointment made her deflate, and she leaned back, wishing that he would just look at her. She was infinitely more convincing when people made eye contact. “Why are you having second thoughts? Did something happen?”

Robin shook his head. “I just don’t think I’m your guy for this,” he said. “She’s got her own little world, and I wasn’t able to find a place where I could slide into it like you wanted me to.”

“Because of the baby.” Ever since Buffy had started showing, Maggie had felt her hopes fade. She needed a warrior, not a milk machine, and she was terrified that the time would come for Buffy’s aid only to have the Slayer be in labor. “Has she said anything to you about it?”

There was no mistaking the tightening of Robin’s jaw. “No,” he said. “Just…no.”

He was holding back on her. Why did all these young people think they could fool her so easily? “I find that hard to believe,” Maggie said evenly. “Surely the subject came up. Is she keeping it? Does she plan to give it up for adoption? Where does the father fit into all this?”

This time, she could see the outline of his fists inside his pockets. Something she’d said had provoked him even further. Interesting.

“It’s like I said. We only ever talked about her classwork. Sometimes, Willow would come and pick her up, but I never saw Buffy with Spike. I have no idea what they’re planning.”

“Spike?” The name made her shake her head. “A nickname like that doesn’t bode well. I’ll bet he’s not a student, right? Some bad boy archetype she’s trying to use to rebel against her calling?”

“Something like that,” he muttered. For the first time since coming in, he looked up, and the bleak anger in his eyes took her breath away. “Maybe you should rethink your whole strategy to get her to help you with those artifacts, Maggie. The next few months are going to be…momentous for Buffy, and I’ve got this feeling that baby of hers is going to be right at the middle of it all. It wouldn’t make a difference if you got God himself to come down and tell her she needed to pick up arms for your fight. The only thing she’s going to be interested in is that baby.”

He was already halfway out the door before she could stop him. “I’m going to fulfill my contract with the university,” Robin said. “So you won’t have to worry about that. And you have my word that none of what we’ve discussed will ever be disclosed. Just…think about what I’ve said, OK?”

With that, he was gone.

To say she was disappointed about losing Robin’s help with the Slayer was an understatement. However, the warnings he’d posed didn’t stem from ignorance. They came from some unknown knowledge, secrets that he had that he wasn’t sharing with Maggie. Part of her was angry at him for that.

Another part was insanely curious. As the semester had progressed, she’d sensed Robin’s growing disaffection for his assignment. Though his reports were never less than glowing about Buffy Summers, they didn’t offer anything but the most cursory of insights, details Maggie could’ve gotten from just about anyone on campus who’d spent five minutes with the girl. Her visit just before Christmas had been a last attempt to try and spur him into action, but obviously, that had failed. Why remained a mystery.

She pulled out her file again and picked up her pen to make the note about the boyfriend. Spike. That one was going to require research. It wouldn’t be difficult to find out more; Buffy’s medical records would most likely yield enough information for Maggie to track the young man down and learn his role in the Slayer’s life. Perhaps he was someone she could use to get to Buffy, instead. Someone with such an unfortunate nickname was most likely mercenary enough to have a price she could meet, or a secret she could exploit.

If that failed, she would just have to start getting a little more creative.


	41. Millions of Strange Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy’s gone for a check-up, Robin has told Maggie he can’t help her, and Xander discovered Havi’s daily trips to see Baltozar…

He couldn’t go home; there was a box of Havi’s stuff sitting right in the middle of his floor, and the last thing Xander wanted right now was to be faced with any kind of reminder of what had happened that morning. He needed distraction, something to take his mind off the ache of her betrayal. When he tried Oz’s place, however, there wasn’t an answer. Willow’s came up with nothing as well. According to her mom and that touch of condescension in her voice that she was so good at, Willow was with Oz. That left Buffy and Spike, the first of which was at the doctor’s and the latter, again, most likely with Oz.

Xander was on his own.

He scanned the schedule at the movie theater, but nothing escapist enough caught his eye. A ramble around the mall proved just as fruitless, and he returned to his car with jittery nerves and a stomach that refused to settle. Sitting in his car, he stared through the windshield, his fingers drumming along the steering wheel while he debated what to try next. Sunnydale was pretty lacking when it came to solitary entertainment, and over the past few months he’d grown accustomed to having Havi at his side.

He rested his brow against the steering wheel, his eyes closed. He still couldn’t believe she wouldn’t even make this one concession for the sake of their relationship. It was Buffy hiding Angel all over again, but he had a feeling that if he brought it up with the gang, their reactions wouldn’t be as clear-cut as they’d been with Buffy’s intervention. For the most part, Havi had their sympathies now. He would probably end up getting lectured on not giving her a chance. Except by Spike. And how much did it suck that his least favorite member of the gang was the one most likely to be on his side?

He needed to do something. Sitting in the mall’s parking lot wasn’t doing anything but making him think too much, and everybody knew thinking and Xander Harris were mutually exclusive. His gaze fell on the bag of weapons that was tossed on the passenger side floor. It was too early for patrolling, and besides, fighting to forget was more Buffy’s style than his. The notion that he could go to the hospital and beat the crap out of Baltozar made him smile for a moment, but he quickly dismissed it. Not only would the hospital staff probably have something to say about it, but fighting a guy in a coma was just sad, even by Xander’s standards.

Starting the engine, he pulled out of the parking lot, turning on the radio as loud as his ears could handle it. Driving was something. It wasn’t the _best_ something, but it was better than nothing. Maybe he’d be inspired to do something better along the way to wherever it was he wasn’t really going.

* * *

Seeing the car already parked in the drive when he pulled in, Spike didn’t even wait for Willow and Oz as he grabbed his blanket and made a dash for the front door of the Summers’ house.

“I really hope Buffy has good news for him,” Willow said, climbing out of the back seat. “Spike’s going to spontaneously combust if this baby doesn’t show up soon.”

“I guess it’s a good thing he’s got the blanket, then.” Oz slipped his hand into hers, giving it a little squeeze as they headed up to the porch. “You’re not still mad about the plan, are you?”

It took the time to climb the stairs before she shook her head. “It’s not that I was ever mad,” she said. “It’s just that…well, you know how Spike’s always trying to find a back way of doing stuff? Lately, it seems like you’ve been…encouraging that. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you two have gotten to be friends, but I kind of hoped that you’d be the good influence rubbing off on him instead of him rubbing on you.” She paused, her nose wrinkling. “That sounded way less dirty in my head.”

Oz pulled her to a gentle stop before she could open the door. “I’m not saying Spike’s always right,” he said. “But a lot of times, he’s got a point.”

“But…” She struggled to find an argument that would work, but could only come up with… “What about Buffy?”

“She’s got enough to be worrying about, don’t you think?”

Though she knew there was a flaw to his logic somewhere, Willow couldn’t find it. Her shoulders slumped, and she gave him a half-smile. “I’m reserving the right to be the first person to say I told you so,” she warned as he pulled her inside.

They both came to an abrupt halt at the sight of Joyce hovering just inside the door. A frown creased her brow.

“What’s wrong?” Willow asked immediately. “Is it Buffy?”

“It’s not Buffy,” Joyce said, and then amended, “Well, not entirely, but Spike’s taking care of her.” She nodded toward the stairs. “Something’s wrong with Havi, but I can’t get her to come out of her room to talk about it. Do you think you could go up and see what you can find out?”

Willow bit her lip, her eyes darting to the upper floor before she gave her assent. “Did you try calling Xander?” she asked. “If something’s wrong, he’s going to want to know about it.”

“I tried, but his mother said he left this morning and hasn’t come back,” Joyce replied. “I left a message for him to call here when he gets in.”

“Go,” Oz said. “I’ll just wait down here.”

Willow climbed the stairs, listening for any telltale signs that would indicate what might be wrong. There was no sobbing, no smashing furniture. There was just an eerie quiet that left her wishing Xander was around to help with whatever was wrong.

Her first knock at the closed door was met with silence. After waiting a minute, Willow called out, “Havi? Are you in there?”

She almost missed the soft sniffle, and when the door finally slipped open, her eyes widened at the obvious tears that had streaked down Havi’s face. “Are you OK?” she blurted. “What happened?”

Havi opened her mouth to speak, but the breath caught in her throat and she ended up just shaking her head. “It’s not important.”

“It was important enough to make you cry.”

Havi pulled herself up straighter, her mouth setting in a firm line. “I’m fine. Please do not worry about me.”

She didn’t believe her. “Maybe I should just go try and find Xander myself---.”

“No.” Willow was surprised by Havi’s sudden grip around her arm, stopping her from walking away, and both women looked down at her curled fingers. Slowly, she let Willow go, but when their eyes met again, Havi’s were pleading. “He will not come,” she said in explanation. “He’s…angry with me.”

Some of the anxiety inside Willow eased. “First big fight, huh?” she said, her tone gentler. “Those suck.”

“I think…it may be our last, as well.”

“Everybody thinks that. Just give him time. He’ll come around.”

The doubt in Havi’s eyes revealed more than her ensuing silence. Willow had been surprised at the relationship that had sprung up between the Protector and her best friend, but she’d seen firsthand how good they were for each other. Xander drew Havi out, revealing a dry sense of humor behind the stern façade, and gave her a haven just to be a girl. On the other hand, Havi gave Xander stability, a focus of good that balanced his own. Though Spike might doubt Havi’s intentions, Willow didn’t. She could see the power that surrounded her. It wasn’t the same as Buffy’s, but it had its own purity that made it impossible not to believe in Havi. It was one reason why Willow was even considering the Guardian proposal.

“You know,” she said, contemplatively, “maybe if you talked about what happened---.”

Havi shook her head. “I don’t wish to discuss this,” she said. “There is no point.”

“The point is, it’ll make you feel better. I’m not exactly all-knowing when it comes to relationships, but I get straight A’s in listening.” When Havi continued to appear doubtful, Willow added, “You can tell me on the way to the Guardians. It’ll help kill the time. You said it was a long walk, right?”

Mention of the Guardians made Havi’s eyes widen. “You’ve chosen?” she asked, almost eagerly.

“No, I’m making a deal with you. I’ll go and hear what they have to say, if you tell me what happened between you and Xander. And don’t tell me it’s silly to talk about it, because I _know_ silly on a first name basis and that isn’t it.”

Havi paused, considering the offer. “Buffy will not be pleased we’re going without her,” she said.

“Buffy’s in no shape to be doing the hike anyway,” Willow countered. The irony of her argument flashed through her mind, but she quickly dismissed the similarity to Spike’s earlier dispute. This was totally different. This wasn’t about Buffy in the first place, so there was no harm to be had.

“All right.” The agreement came quietly, almost a whisper. “But we should go now, to take advantage of the daylight for as long as possible.”

Willow nodded. “I’ll just go tell Oz we’re going for girl time,” she said, turning on her heel to head back downstairs.

“You don’t wish to tell him where we’re going?”

“And start a fight when Spike and his scary vampire ears overhear me? No, thanks.” She shot Havi a quick grin. “Besides, you said there isn’t any danger, right?”

“That is correct.”

“Then there’s no problem. I’ll meet you out front.”

As she descended the stairs, Willow shoved aside the niggle of doubt that had suddenly popped up in the back of her brain. She trusted Havi. This was for the good. And she was only going to talk, so no bad could come of that. If worse came to worse, she always had her magic.

* * *

She was sitting on his bed when Spike came down the basement stairs, her pregnancy journal in her lap as she scribbled away at it. His throat tightened when she lifted his eyes to meet his, and he had to fight not to crush her to his chest as he sat down next to her.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked gently.

Putting the lid on her pen, Buffy set aside her notebook so that she could curl into his side, their backs against the wall. “What did Mom tell you?” Her voice was soft and aching. It was almost worse than if he’d walked in and seen her crying.

“Just that I needed to come down here,” Spike replied. He rested his hand along the soft swell of her stomach, while he buried his nose in her hair. Fear made his gut clench, but the twin echoes of Buffy’s and the baby’s heartbeats did miracles in helping him ignore it. “Tell me what the doc said.”

“I have to go back in next week,” she said. “They’ll have all my bloodwork back by then, and hopefully that will give them some answers they don’t have right now.”

“Answers ‘bout what?”

He phrased the query carefully, not wishing to upset her, but Buffy surprised him by bolting upright and staring into his eyes.

“Did you know?” she demanded. “Did you…hear something, or smell something, or do _something_ vampy that made you worry even more about Schmoo? Is that why you wanted me to go to the doctor’s?”

Her rising anxiety was elevating her pulse, but when Spike tried to reach for her to try and soothe her with his touch, she pulled away.

“Tell me,” she said, and her voice was harder than it had been when he’d first come down. “I know something’s up, Spike. Don’t try and hide it from me. This isn’t just about us or William’s ideas of chivalry any more. This is about Schmoo, and I won’t let you put this baby in danger by holding back on me.”

“It was just the vision,” he insisted. There was no way in hell he was going to tell her about Red’s protection spell; in Buffy’s agitated state, it would only make the situation worse. “Angel was so sure something was wrong with you, yeah? I wouldn’t tell him this to his face, but he had a bloody good reason to be. According to Rupert, Angel uses those visions to fulfill his soddin’ mission, whatever the hell that is, so if that old mate of yours said you were in danger, yeah, I got a bit worried. Now. What did the doctor say, Buffy? Is something wrong with the little one?”

She watched him for a long moment, her features tight and pinched. The added weight from the pregnancy had softened her body in many places, but when Buffy got upset, she still managed to look like one of those starving children out in Africa, all big eyes and hollow cheeks. It ripped him apart to see it. It always meant that Buffy was hurting in some way.

When she sagged, he was right there to take her back in his arms, letting her bury her face in his shirt. He listened to her deep inhalations, felt the calming of her pulse, and when she finally spoke, the anger in her voice was gone.

“He doesn’t know,” she said quietly. “He kept saying he didn’t think there was anything to worry about, but he couldn’t give us an explanation for what he saw. That’s why he did all the tests, but Schmoo’s heart sounded normal, he said.”

Spike could’ve told her that, but he knew she needed to hear it from the doctor in order to believe it. “What did he see?” he asked. “Was it on the ultrasound?”

“Yeah. It was…a shadow. Kind of. He thought it was the amniotic fluid at first, but whenever Schmoo moved, it did, too. They even moved me to a different room because they thought it might be the equipment, but it did the exact same thing there.”

“Where is it?” Silently, he prayed that it wasn’t on the baby’s brain. He knew that wouldn’t be good.

“That’s the weird thing. It’s kind of all over. Like…a shroud, is what the doctor said. But we could see through it, and nothing came back on the ultrasound that would make him think there was actually anything there. That’s why he called it a shadow. There, but…not.”

Buffy and her doctor might not know what was wrapping around the little one, but Spike had a strong suspicion. He was going to have to talk to Willow about the spell. As much as he hated seeing Buffy this worried, Spike knew this would scare her into being more careful so the spell would likely be redundant anyway. Better to get it off and remove the evidence of the magical tampering, alleviate Buffy’s worry before it got any worse.

He didn’t say a word about that, though. He just pulled her closer against his chest and rested his cheek on the top of her head, listening to the echoing rhythms of hers and the little one’s bodies. “Whatever it is,” he said, “we’ll get through it, just like we always do. You think this baby’s goin’ to give up without a fight? Can’t. It’s impossible. Look at its genes, luv. Look at what we’ve done just to get to this point. There’s no way the little one’s goin’ to get beat by something that isn’t even real.”

Though Buffy stayed silent, the way she wrapped her arms tighter around his back told Spike all he needed to know. He’d have to tell Oz and Willow to take off; he wasn’t going anywhere today. He’d find a way later to talk to Red about the spell. Right now, his Slayer needed him to hold her, to comfort her, to assure her that she was loved and that all would be right with the world.

That was something even William had always excelled at.

* * *

Willow had known that Havi was in great shape just from watching her fight when they were on patrol. But watching her and trying to keep up with her were two entirely different things.

Sweat dripped down Willow’s back, tickling her spine. It made her bangs stick to her forehead in uncomfortable patches, forcing her to blow upward to try and dislodge them, and it was starting to make her really, really, _really_ wish she hadn’t agreed to this little excursion.

She’d gotten the story of what had happened with Xander early on in the trip; being a woman of few words meant Havi knew how to tell a tale as quickly as possible. Frankly, Willow didn’t see what the big deal was, but she also knew how strongly Xander had reacted to discovering Buffy’s betrayal the year before in hiding Angel from all of them. It made him paranoid about secrets, about violent exes who could come back and kill anybody Xander cared about without breaking a sweat. Knowing that Havi had continued to check in on Baltozar’s status, regardless of the fact that he was in a coma, had to have broken Xander’s heart.

Her assurances that he’d come around had fallen on deaf ears, but when Willow had heard what Havi _hadn’t_ said, what she could’ve done to keep him from running out, she fell mute. _That_ part, she didn’t understand. If it was her, she would’ve been trying to explain six ways to Sunday, and in fact, had done just that when she and Oz had had their brief break-up over the Factory debacle. But Havi was a different kind of woman entirely. She was used to keeping secrets, and though Willow knew that those secrets weren’t bad ones, Xander wasn’t privy to that kind of insight. He would see her actions and take them at face value. That was just what he did.

Willow almost bumped into her when she suddenly stopped. “We are here,” Havi said. She looked like she hadn’t even broken a sweat. “Now, comes the hard part of our journey.”

“The _hard part_?” Willow exclaimed. She pushed back the sweat-drenched hair off her face. “Are you kidding?”

They were standing deep in one of the woods on the edge of town, the canopy of trees blocking out almost all the ambient light. The ground was unbroken by much vegetation, but when Willow looked down, she saw the loose dirt falling into a chasm, black and foreboding even in the day. Havi stood at the edge of it, pulling out rappelling gear from her backpack.

“We must go down,” she explained. “The well is in a cavern beneath the forest.”

“How down is down?”

“In your measurements, about twenty yards. It isn’t far.”

“It is if you’ve never done anything like this before.” Carefully, Willow inched forward, but she stopped well away, stretching her neck to try and peer down into the hole. “I couldn’t even climb the rope in gym class, and you expect me to do _this_? You should’ve said something.”

Havi frowned. “But I did.”

“You said a little climb. This is Mt. Everest. Except, you know, down.”

“You will be safe. I’ll help you.”

“No, I’m going to be safe because I’m not going to do it.”

They stared at each other, each sure of her right in this. “Was this a ploy?” Havi finally asked. “To get me to talk?”

She faltered. “Well, no, but---.”

“I would not allow harm to befall you, Willow. My duty is to protect you. If you are willing to believe me about the Guardians, why are you not willing to believe me about this?”

It was a logical argument. Fear, however, was never logical.

“I will go down first,” Havi continued when Willow stayed silent. “If for some reason you slip, I will be there to stop you from falling.”

“You mean you’ll be the body I land on instead of my butt,” Willow said. Then, an idea suggested itself. “What about magic? Can I just zap us down there instead of climbing?”

“I didn’t think you were capable of teleportation,” came the wary response.

“I just haven’t tried it yet.” She liked this idea much better than the climbing, and her enthusiasm began to bubble back to the surface. “If I concentrate, I can do a lot of spells without too much effort. As long as there’s not something about these sacred grounds that means I can’t use magic, I think I can do this.”

She had her eyes closed before Havi could respond, stretching her senses to try and get a grasp on the energies near the chasm. Something warm and welcoming reached out to her, flooding her head with images too rapid to acknowledge, suffusing her body with growing heat, until she could feel every hair on the back of her neck standing up on end.

“Willow?” she heard Havi question, worry in her voice.

But when she tried to answer, she discovered she couldn’t, her will no longer her own, her powers swelling beyond the boundaries of her control as if they were skidding toward a destination she couldn’t even see.

Then, everything went black.

* * *

She woke with a splitting headache and the slight trickle of blood coming from her nose. Trying to stifle the flow, Willow winced as she sat up, the silver and lavender that seemed to surround her dancing and rippling in eddies that made her sick to her stomach. _I hope I’m not dead_ , she thought, blinking to try and focus her eyes. _Because being nauseous for all of eternity would really suck._

“You’re not dead.”

The soft chiming voice seemed to come from everywhere, above her head, below her bottom, emanating from the walls. As her sight sharpened, she could see she was in a circular room, a stone pool taking up most of the space right in the middle. The light came from the water that was fluttering within the pool, and Willow edged closer to see if she could get a better look.

Her reflection was distorted by the strength of the waves. Almost hypnotically, they lapped against the stone, and it took only a moment for her to detect the pattern within its rhythms. A slow smile spread across her face, in spite of the ache inside her, as she fell under the spell of the tempo.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” the voice asked. “It’s because we’re a part of you.”

“You’re the Guardians,” Willow murmured. Almost against her will, her hand rose and skimmed across the surface of the water. Where the water touched her fingertips, sparks jumped, spraying and dancing across the pool so that it shimmered.

“Whoa…” she breathed.

“We have been waiting for you,” the voice said. “Though we thought you would come sooner.”

She flushed in embarrassment at the chastising undercurrent in its choice of words. “I only just found out about you,” she said. “My friends got a little overprotective and Havi didn’t tell me about you until just a few days ago.”

“Ah…” It was a soft sigh, making the walls pulse around her. “Your friends are both your greatest weakness and your largest treasure. We expected no less.”

The pause that followed was filled with the sounds of the moving water, lulling Willow even further into a sense of calm. Though she couldn’t see herself in the water, if she looked beneath the waves, she almost imagined she could make out the pale lines of an elderly woman. It could’ve been Rose.

She paused, looking deeper.

It could’ve been Esme.

“There is no reason for you to be frightened,” the voice said. “She is not one of us.”

“I didn’t---.” It dawned on her then that it was the second of her thoughts she hadn’t voiced out loud. “Am I wasting my breath by bothering to speak?” she asked tentatively.

“No. On this ground, the force of your power gives life to your emotions, to your will. We can sense those as easily as your words.”

“So…you know about Esme?”

“We know about all of it. But it’s not as you think. Rose saw her death. She saw the hole her absence would leave with us, and so she did what she felt was best.”

There was a pause then. An obvious hesitation. Willow sat back on her heels, withdrawing her hand from the water so that the cascade of sparks faded away.

“There’s more, isn’t there?” she asked. “Stuff Havi didn’t tell me.”

“There is always more.”

“Isn’t that why I’m here then? To get my questions answered?”

“Is that what you wish? Is it not enough that Rose chose you to replace her?”

Willow froze, her eyes widening. “She…what?”


	42. Steal Men's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XX.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: A shadow showed up on Buffy’s ultrasound, Xander went off in search of distraction after his fight with Havi, while Havi took Willow to see the Guardians…

He caught himself brooding on Havi more than once. _I’m not Angel, I’m not Angel, I’m not Angel_ , Xander chanted silently. _I don’t brood._ His knuckles were white where he gripped the steering wheel, his jaw clenched from the efforts of trying not to think about her too much. The sheer determination to divert his thoughts away from her, however, was actually cementing her place in his head, no matter how much he tried otherwise. It was frustrating as hell.

So caught up with his own drama, he almost missed the flurry of activity at the side of the road. He was on the edge of town, wandering aimlessly through the perimeter roads that separated Sunnydale from the surrounding deserts. At one point, he’d debated getting out and taking a walk through the forest for a change of scenery, but sundown’s impending approach made him realize what a stupid idea that was. He was depressed, not suicidal.

But a glint off something metal caught his eye as he drove along, and Xander slowed the car down to try and see what it was. His eyes widened when he saw the vigilante guy drag the unconscious body of a horned demon into the bushes, and his brows nearly disappeared into his hair when he realized the guy in black was Graham Miller. Nobody had seen Graham since he’d disappeared from Giles’ apartment. This was huge.

He passed the bushes and rounded a bend in the road before pulling his car over to the side. There wasn’t time to get the rest of the gang, but if he could follow Graham and see where he went to, Xander figured they could always go after him later. Maybe the day wasn’t completely shot after all.

Grabbing a stake from his weapons bag, Xander got out of the car and headed back to where he’d seen Graham vanish. He stepped as quietly as he could, but the dry brush crackled beneath his feet, and he paused more than once when he thought he could’ve been heard. Only when he was sure that he was still safe did he continue, but it took longer than he’d hoped to reach the spot in the bushes.

Something clear and sticky was smeared along the ground, leading through the crushed foliage and deeper into the woods. Carefully, Xander walked along its edge, his gaze jumping around for any other signs of movement. He didn’t see the dried branch until it snapped in half beneath his toe, and he froze as the sound echoed through the trees.

A growl came from his left, making the hair stand up on the back of Xander’s neck. “Please be a rabid dog, please be a rabid dog,” he whispered as he slowly shifted to look at the new arrival.

It was much larger than a dog. Standing nearly a foot taller than Xander, the demon was covered in iridescent blue scales, a row of spiky horns over its heavy brow. Instead of two eyes, however, it had four, all blinking at him simultaneously as drool dripped from its fanged mouth. The growl coming from its throat was so powerful that he could see the creature’s chest vibrating from the force of it.

“Looking for your friend?” Xander asked with a quick smile. He pointed deeper into the forest. “He went thataway.”

The demon didn’t move, but the razor-sharp claws it sported for hands clenched into fists. Clear liquid oozed from between its so-called fingers.

“Obviously, what we have here is a failure to communicate,” Xander went on. His heart was pounding in his chest; he really hoped this particular species couldn’t pick up on that kind of thing. “So, I’m just going to go with the international symbol for ‘I’m a big chicken’ and run like hell, OK?”

He’d already started to back away as he spoke, but the same stick he’d stepped on the first time rolled beneath his heel, making him lose his balance and fall backwards onto his ass. The demon charged at the same time, the growl erupting into a roar, and Xander screamed in fear as he tried to scramble out of its way.

A brilliant flash exploded in the corner of his eye. Just a few feet away from him, the demon’s chest burst open from the artillery that slammed into it, drenching Xander in the clear fluid that he’d seen on the bush. Instinctively, he reached up to try and wipe the liquid away, but it was already stinging where it had landed in his eyes.

“We’ve got a civilian down,” someone said.

A man in black fatigues appeared at Xander’s side. “The HST’s blood is all over him,” the man said to someone still behind Xander. “What do we do?”

“He’s going to need medical attention.” That one was Graham. Even as little as he’d spoken when he’d been chained up in Giles’ tub, Xander would’ve recognized the voice anywhere. “The blood is toxic.”

“Toxic?” Xander struggled to sit up, but his slick hands couldn’t get a grip on the ground. His vision was getting blurry, but he could still see well enough when Graham stepped in front of him. “Is this your idea of payback?” he demanded. “Splatter me with evil demon goo so that I can’t run and get help? What demons are you taking in this time?”

There were now three of them, but the others were looking at Graham in confusion. “What’s he talking about?” the first one asked. “Do you know this guy?”

Graham’s eyes bored into Xander’s. “Never seen him before,” he said tightly.

“He knows us, though,” the second argued. “That makes him a threat.”

Xander didn’t like the turn this conversation was taking. “Hey, not a threat here,” he said. He tried again to sit up, but his muscles seemed to have turned into jello. “I’m about as non-threatening as you get. Just ask my friends. Or my enemies. Not that I _have_ a lot of enemies because you’d have to be threatening for that, which I’m not.” When he realized he was babbling, he shook his head, letting it fall back onto the grass. “The hole I’m digging just keeps getting deeper, doesn’t it?”

“We’ll take him in,” the first man said. “Dr. Walsh will know what to do with him.”

Though the world seemed even fuzzier now, a renewed sense of fear gave Xander fresh strength. “I’m sure I can find the hospital all on my own---,” he started to say, but the vigilante was already pressing a small weapon against his arm.

Everything went dark.

* * *

Though the silver and lavender light was hypnotic, Willow was feeling anything but soothed. “What are you saying?” she asked. “What did Rose choose me for?”

“To be her replacement, of course.” The voice almost sounded amused. “She was greatly impressed with your creativity in harnessing Esme’s power. That was her first inkling that you could be molded to our purposes.”

“No, no molding,” she said quickly. She waggled a warning finger at the pool, though she knew how silly that had to look. “I’m not some lump of play-dough you can play with. And besides, Rose was the one who gave me Esme’s magic. I didn’t have anything to do with that.”

“But you did. It was your original spell that caught her attention. It was quite ingenious.”

“It…was?” In spite of her trepidation, being flattered for her expertise always managed to push Willow’s buttons. She hated that they could manipulate her so easily, but at the same time, it was nice not to have somebody shouting at her for not knowing what she was doing.

“Of course. Your innate finesse was a wellspring just waiting to be tapped. Rose saw that. That’s why she advocated your union with the Guardians. It’s why she sent the Child of Life to watch over you, to guide you to us.”

It was the first time she’d heard the term. “The Child of Life?” she asked. “Do you mean Havi?”

“Yes. She was selected to become a Protector when we learned she would not be Chosen. Her destiny is much more important now.” The rippling water seemed to sigh. “These are not the questions you wish to ask, though,” the voice said. “Don’t be afraid, Willow. We have never wished to coerce you into a life that would make you unhappy, but at the same time, we hate seeing power such as yours wasted. Tell us what we may say in order to convince you to join us.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean…it’s flattering that you want me and all. I guess I know how Buffy felt when she was Chosen, except, you know, this is for the magic set and not the slaying set.”

“We are all on the same side,” the voice said. “Guardians have been protecting the Slayers’ interests for centuries. Becoming one of us is a natural extension of what you’ve been doing at the Slayer’s side for years.”

“So, I’d be protecting Buffy?”

“Well, no. Guardians are more invested in the Watchers’ Council. We look over them and ensure that they do what they must. That was how you met Rose. She was sent back to alter the timeline because of what a Watcher had done.”

Willow frowned. “No offense, but I’m really not interested in doing something as drastic as that. I kind of like my timeline the way it is.”

The voice chuckled. “Rose’s was an extreme case. It is only the third time in the history of the Guardians that we’ve been forced to take such a strong measure to rectify a wrong that was made against the Slayers. Our normal responsibilities are usually much more benign than that.”

“Then why do you need the big mojo?”

“Because it’s better to be over-prepared than under,” came the reply. “Surely, that’s a philosophy you understand?”

She did, but nothing they were saying was making her want to join up. She wasn’t so sure what they really needed her for, and she said as such.

“Because our numbers are dwindling,” the voice said. There was a touch of sadness beneath the sound of the waves. “Without fresh, strong blood, we will be extinct within a century. Who will watch over the Watchers then?”

It was a guilt trip, and Willow knew it. It didn’t make it any less effective though. “Can’t you expand your recruiting, though?” she asked. “There are covens all over the world. What’s so special about me?”

“The type of power you possess has the ability to corrupt beyond even your experiences. Look at what happened with Esme. We cannot take the risk of bringing someone into the fold who cannot be trusted to follow our tenets.”

“And you think I can?”

“We _know_ you can.”

Willow sighed. Her head was starting to ache from the possibilities bouncing around in it, and the effects of the teleportation spell she must’ve done were making her tired. “I can’t give you an answer now,” she said, rising to her wobbly feet. “I need time to process all this.”

“We are patient. We will wait.”

She got the feeling, though, that they wouldn’t want to wait long. “Thanks,” she said out loud, though she knew it was superfluous. “I guess I’ll just be going then.” She scanned the circular room, a frown wrinkling her brow. “As soon as you point out which way is the exit.”

The water in the pool started to ease. “Good bye, Willow,” the voice said, growing ever fainter. “And be well.”

“But---.”

The magic swelled around her, sweeping through just as it had outside. Before Willow could react, she was standing back at the edge of the chasm, staring at Havi outlined against the darkening sky.

“You saw them,” Havi said without preamble.

“More like heard,” Willow replied. She felt the faint trickle of blood touch her upper lip, and reached to wipe it away. “Do they actually have a physical form, or are they just playing shy?”

“They can manifest, yes,” Havi said. “But they are scattered across the world. The well acts as a conduit for them to communicate.” She grew hesitant. “Did you…reach a decision?”

“Yeah.” Willow shot her a broad grin. “I’ve decided I could really use some ice cream therapy right about now. Let’s go home.”

* * *

He only moved when he heard Red and Havi arrive back at the house.

Buffy had been asleep for well over an hour, curled on her side with her arm protective around her stomach. Because of the news at the doctor’s, Joyce had allowed Spike to stay with Buffy without argument, knowing her daughter needed that more than anything else at the moment. Buffy hadn’t actually said a word. She hadn’t needed to. All that was necessary had already been said.

So it was with reluctance that Spike peeled himself away from her sleeping form, pressing tender lips to the bare skin of her midriff before slipping out of the room. He hated leaving her, hated the thought that she might wake up and not find him there even more, but this had to be done. He was going to have Willow take off that damn spell once and for all. Buffy didn’t need to be worrying about something that wasn’t even there.

He found her in the kitchen, standing at the island with Havi, hunched over a tub of chocolate ice cream. She looked pale and worn, and Spike could detect the slight scent of her blood, as if she’d cut herself while she was out. There were no blemishes on her exposed skin, though. Just a few grass stains and dirt smudges on her clothing.

“How’s Buffy?” she asked as soon as she saw him.

“Asleep.” He avoided looking at Havi as he stepped around to face Willow directly. “Joyce fill you in on what happened?”

Willow shook her head. “Just that there were some inconclusive anomalies on the ultrasound. She said it wasn’t anything for us to worry about, that you were taking care of it.”

“We’re both takin’ care of it. C’mon.”

The moment his hand curled around Red’s arm, Havi stepped forward.

“Where are you taking her?” she asked.

He had to bite the inside of his cheek not to lash out at her. “None of your business, Studs,” Spike said tightly. “This is about Buffy and none of that Guardian shit you keep nattering on about.”

“It’s OK, Havi,” Willow said. “I’ll just be a couple minutes.”

He pulled her into the basement, away from prying ears and the possibility of Joyce walking in on their conversation. Only when he was satisfied that Havi wasn’t listening at the top of the stairs did Spike start talking.

“We’re takin’ off the protection spell,” he said. When her mouth opened to protest, he held up a hand to cut her off. “No arguments, Red. Either you take it off, or I come clean with Buffy. It’s showin’ up at the doctor’s and she’s a right wreck worrying about all of it. I’m not goin’ to let that happen any more.”

Willow’s frown was deep. “What do you mean, it’s showing up? It can’t show up. It’s magic.”

“Well, something’s showin’. Like a shadow that follows the little one around.”

She still seemed skeptical, but Spike wasn’t budging on this and he knew she could see it in his face. “Just give me a couple minutes,” she said. “It’s not like a light switch I can turn on and off. I’m going to need a few things.”

“Get whatever you want.” Relief flooded through him. He’d thought he might have to argue with Red a little bit more about this, but she seemed fairly open to suggestion at the moment. He was going to have to ask her afterward just what had happened when she’d been out with Havi.

* * *

The only thing Willow said to her when she came back upstairs was, “It’s OK.” Havi wasn’t sure what she meant by that, but the certainty in her tone was enough to allay any residual worry she’d had about Spike’s intentions in the basement. She didn’t actually believe that Spike would hurt Willow, but he was still a vampire and when it came to Buffy, he was known to be more than a little unpredictable. It was always better to be cautious around him.

Joyce sat at the desk in the living room, writing out checks to pay the bills. When Havi hesitated in the entrance, Joyce looked up and smiled, though there was more sadness than pleasure in her eyes.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

For a moment, Havi debated telling her the truth about the fight, but the fear that Joyce would react in the same manner as Xander had made her keep her silence. Instead, she just nodded.

“If you ever want to talk about it,” Joyce said, “all you have to do is say the word. I might even have some advice that might come in handy. That’s one good thing about being the oldest female in the house. I’ve got experience that deserves to be put to good use.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. In so many ways, Joyce filled a hole in Havi’s life that she hadn’t even realized existed until she’d come to Sunnydale. She hadn’t been with Rose long enough for the Guardian to be truly invested in her life, and besides, Havi had spent so much time focusing on helping Rose run from Spike that there had been little room for thought elsewhere. That’s why it was going to hurt so much when she moved out. Even if she wasn’t going to be living with Xander now.

“I think---,” she started to say, but a crash from upstairs cut her off.

Joyce was the first to react.

“That’s Buffy’s room,” she said, rushing toward the stairs.

Havi followed her up, but halted at the top when she saw Buffy standing in her open doorway. One hand was on her swollen belly, the other on the jamb keeping her steady, but the eyes the Slayer turned to her mother were dark with fear.

“Something’s wrong,” she breathed.

* * *

He heard the crash from somewhere else in the house, but Spike’s attention was riveted to the witch sitting in the middle of the floor. She’d gathered the few ingredients she needed to cancel the spell on Buffy, but the moment she’d started the incantation, Willow had stiffened, her hair charging with electricity, her heart pounding within her chest. Sweat immediately beaded on her brow, and her voice faltered over the words.

“What is it, Red?” he demanded. “What’s goin’ on?”

“I…I…don’t know,” she breathed. Her tongue darted out to lick her suddenly dry lips. “It’s… _fighting_ me.”

“It?” His mind raced before his eyes widened. “The little one?”

“I just…I have to…” Her lashes dipped, closing for a long second during which time Spike heard footsteps echoing from above his head. “…harder…”

The incantation started again, though this time, her voice was rougher.

* * *

Havi had her arm around Buffy’s back, helping her stand upright. She could feel the heat radiating from the Slayer’s flesh, so much higher than normal, but what was more frightening was the uncontrollable quivering that seemed to be attacking the smaller girl’s muscles.

“Get her in the car,” Joyce ordered, already moving down the stairs. “I’m taking her to the hospital.”

They only made it a few steps before Buffy cried out, her knees crumpling beneath her. She pulled Havi down with her, letting her go to curl her fingers into the carpet.

“Get…Spike…” she rasped. Her eyes blazed when they met Havi’s. “Now!”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Pushing past Joyce, Havi ran down the stairs, through the dining room to the basement door. She slammed into the vampire himself as he came bolting upward, knocking both of them off-balance.

“I heard Buffy,” Spike growled.

“Something’s wrong with the baby,” Havi said. “Joyce is taking her to the hospital, but Buffy asked for you.”

Then, Spike did something completely unexpected. Instead of breaking in a dead run for Buffy, he glanced down into the basement. “Tell her I’ll be right there,” he said, but before Havi could ask what was wrong, he’d disappeared downstairs again.

* * *

She could feel the barrier preventing her from completing the incantation start to give. It pulsed, like it was alive, like it could literally fight her back, but Willow knew better. This was her construct. This was her spell. What she had created, she would now destroy.

Her eyes were closed, her efforts forcing her to direct all her attention inward, so she didn’t see Spike come back down the stairs until it was too late. A strong hand clapped over her mouth, choking the incantation in her throat, while another banded across her chest so tightly that she couldn’t breathe.

Willow screamed.

Her reaction was instinctive. Heat surged beneath her skin, and she heard Spike curse as she struggled in his hold. The contact she’d had with her reversal spell shattered, leaving a gaping hole somewhere in the pit of her stomach, but all she could think of was her desire to breathe, her need to break free. If she could just---.

His snarl of pain came seconds before she fell to the ground, gasping and panting for air. When she lifted her burning gaze up to glare at him, she saw where his shirt had charred from contact with her, the scorch marks that lined his arms. They were nothing compared to the feral anger in his golden eyes.

“What did you do that for?” she spat. “You asked me---.”

“We can’t break it,” he said, his voice a growl from deep inside his chest. “It was doin’ something to the little one.”

“What?” She stared at him in disbelief. “But that’s not possible!”

“Don’t care what you might think, but that’s the way it is. Joyce is takin’ her to the hospital ‘cause Buffy said something was wrong. You don’t think that might not be just a little bit of a coincidence?”

The door at the top of the stairs opened, and Havi appeared in the entrance, making both of them turn their heads at the same time.

“Buffy is asking for you, Spike,” Havi said. She descended enough stairs so that she could meet their eyes. “The pains have stopped, but they are still going to ensure the baby is all right. She would like for you to go with her.”

Willow quailed when Spike shot a knowing glance at her before bounding up the stairs, nearly knocking Havi over on the way. He’d been right after all. What had she done?

“Did he hurt you?” Havi asked. She’d descended the rest of the way, and held on to the railing as she regarded Willow.

She shook her head, though her body was still fighting to come down from the panic of fighting off Spike. “Buffy’s OK, right?” Her voice sounded wavery, the last vestiges of her adrenaline fading. “There wasn’t anything like…bleeding, or stuff like that, right?”

“No bleeding. She was just having abdominal pains. And she was…very warm.” There was a pause. “Did you… _do_ something?”

Willow sagged, unable to answer. How could she even _consider_ becoming a Guardian when she’d almost killed an innocent baby? Bile rose in the back of her throat, and she had to fight not to vomit right there in the basement. She could only hope that everything would be all right.

It had to be. She’d never forgive herself if it wasn’t.

* * *

He woke up to the jostling of a moving vehicle. Something cold was beneath him, but when Xander tried to move, a strong arm suddenly pushed him back until he was lying down again.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Xander froze at the sound of Graham’s low voice. “What’s going on?” he hissed. “Where are you taking me? And what’s with the blindfold? Don’t want to risk me seeing where you’ve been hiding out?”

Though Graham didn’t answer, he didn’t move, either, continuing to hold Xander down. “The blindfold is to protect your eyes,” he finally said. “It wouldn’t make a difference if I took it off or not. You wouldn’t be able to see anyway.”

“What? Why?”

His voice was rising, but Graham’s arm pushed him harder against the bench, making him squeak in protest. “The HST,” Graham said. “I told you. It’s toxic.” Xander felt his breath on his cheek as he leaned in closer. “If you want to get out of this alive, you’re going to listen to what I’m about to say without saying a word. Understand?”

He didn’t, but something hard in Graham’s tone told him it would be worse to argue.

“You’re being taken in for my superiors to interrogate you,” Graham continued. “You should’ve kept your mouth shut back there, but since you didn’t, you’re stuck with this. They’re also going to try and take care of your injuries. That includes your eyes. The thing is… my superiors don’t know anything about you. They’re under the impression I was kidnapped by foreign demon hunters, so if you’re smart, you’re going to pretend you don’t know me. Do that, and I’ll get you out as soon as the docs are done with you. Don’t, and we’re both dead men. Do we have a deal?”

“Everything all right back there, Miller?” one of the guys in the front seat called back.

“Affirmative,” he replied. There was a long silence during which Xander jostled around on the bench, waiting for whatever was going to come next.

“Why did you lie about who I was?” Xander hissed when nothing was said.

Graham sighed. “I have my reasons,” he said. “Now, do we have a deal, or do you want to say goodbye to ever seeing your friends again?”

He didn’t really have a choice, not until he could think of a better plan. Or see, for that matter.

“Deal,” Xander whispered.


	43. When Hours Have Drain'd His Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LXIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Xander has been captured by the Initiative but struck a deal with Graham to escape, while Willow tried to remove the protection spell from Buffy only to have the baby go into distress, forcing her to abort her attempt and Buffy to go to the hospital…

The ringing phone woke Robin from a dead sleep, and he stretched wearily to pick up the receiver on the nightstand. “Hello?” he mumbled.

“Buffy Summers has been taken into hospital.”

There was no greeting, no attempts at niceties, but hearing Quentin’s stiff accent was enough to jolt Robin awake.

“And you’re calling me about this because…?”

“I want you to find out what exactly has happened,” Quentin said. “Be our eyes, so to speak.”

“Sounds to me the eyes you already have are doing just fine if you know she’s been admitted.” Falling back onto his pillow, Robin sighed as he tried to gather his wits enough to deal with the Council Head on a level footing. “Ask Lydia to do this. I haven’t even agreed that I’m going to help you yet.”

“Lydia is otherwise occupied. As for our sources…” The rustle of papers came over the line. “I’m interested in a firsthand account, Robin. Sterile facts don’t tell me how her family is reacting or what might have happened to induce her admittance. These are details that I need to know if I’m to proceed as I need to.”

“You could just leave her alone, you know. It’s not like she hasn’t done her job for you.”

Quentin’s chuckle sent chills down Robin’s spine. “You, of all people, should see the Council’s need to monitor this situation,” he said. “I’ll give you until noon your time to get back with me about what you find out. That should be sufficient time for you to discover at least some preliminary information. Good day, Robin.”

The line went dead before he could respond, and he returned the phone to its base with a leaden drop. He couldn’t say no; Travers knew that. Robin just hated being manipulated so blatantly. Hopefully, he would find out that Buffy’s troubles were benign. For her sake, it would make everybody’s life a hell of a lot easier.

* * *

Nobody wanted to approach him, but frankly, Spike didn’t care. He was too busy fuming about what was taking the hospital staff so bloody long to get back with some news. It had been over an hour since Buffy had been rushed into a private room, leaving him and Joyce waiting outside twiddling their thumbs while she was getting examined. He’d not sat down for a second of that, pacing the length of the sterile corridor with heavy steps that forewarned anyone of his darkening mood.

When the doctor finally came out, Spike leapt forward, reaching him before Joyce could.

“Well?” he demanded. “How’s Buffy? Is she OK? What about the baby? What the soddin’ hell has taken you so long to get your---?”

“Spike.” Joyce’s hand was light on his arm, but her tone was firm. “Dr. Calder can’t tell us anything if you’re too busy yelling at him.”

The older man fidgeted under Spike’s glare. “Buffy is just fine,” he said. “She and the baby are stable, she’s not dilating, and the baby’s heartbeat is strong. We’re not sure what exactly happened, but considering the results she got at her ultrasound earlier today, I’m going to keep her here for observation just in case.”

“Can I see her?” Spike asked.

Dr. Calder nodded. “But just for a few minutes. She needs her rest and it’s well past visiting hours. You’ll be able to come back in the morning for a more extended visit.”

“I’ll wait here,” Joyce said, patting Spike’s arm. “Just tell Buffy I love her.”

“Will do.” He followed the doctor through the hall, trying to stifle the desire to rush past and run for Buffy’s room. When they reached her door, Dr. Calder paused before pushing it open.

“You have five minutes,” he reminded.

The room smelled like sickness in spite of the layers of disinfectant the hospital had used to try and cover it up. He hated that smell. It reminded him too much of less than happy times, those awful days with his mother after he’d turned her, too many incidents with Dru to number. Buffy was stretched out on the lone bed, pale and tired, and Spike had to fight to smile when she met his eyes.

“Have I mentioned how much I hate hospitals?” she complained.

“Necessary evil,” he replied. Crossing the distance to the side of the bed, he had her cradled in his arms before she could blink, letting the echoes of hers and the baby’s heartbeats pound into his flesh. “Doc says that it’s just routine. To make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Yeah, except they don’t even know what happened in the first place.” Her sigh warmed his chest, and her arms tightened around his waist. “I’m scared, Spike. What if something is really wrong with the baby? What happened---.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” His voice was fiercer than he meant it to be, and he took a stabilizing breath before continuing. “I can hear it for myself, Buffy. There’s nothin’ wrong with the little one’s ticker.”

“But you didn’t feel how much it hurt,” she said. Extricating herself from his embrace, Buffy turned haunted eyes to face him. “It felt like I was being cut in two, Spike. It felt like part of me was _dying_. I’ve been stabbed, drowned, punched, kicked, and _nothing_ has ever hurt like that. So, don’t tell me nothing’s wrong. Pain happens for a reason.”

“Maybe it was one of those Braxton-Hicks you were readin’ about,” he suggested. “Your body’s just doin’ a dry run for the real thing.”

“It’s too early for a dry run. There’s no way Schmoo would survive if I went into labor now.”

“Which is why they call it false labor, luv. It’s perfectly natural.” Pushing back the hair that hung in her face, Spike maintained a calm façade, desperate for her not to see the fear that was roiling inside. “I’m not goin’ to let anything happen to you or the baby, Buffy. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“I know. It’s just…” She shook her head, sagging back against the pillows. “You’re going to think I’m silly.”

“Too late for that.”

She slapped at his arm. “I’m serious here. But…OK, it’s like this. When I’m slaying, I know what I’m fighting. I can see it. And I know who I’m fighting for. Mom, Willow, Xander, Giles. You. But this with Schmoo…it feels like it’s completely out of my control, that whatever I do, it doesn’t matter. And what’s worse, if I screw up, that’s it. Game over. Willow and Giles can always try and defend themselves if I make a mistake, but I’m all Schmoo’s got.”

“But you’re not. I’m here.”

“No offense, Spike, but if my blood pressure decides to go into outer space, there’s not a whole lot you can do about it.”

“There’s other---.”

The opening of the door behind him made him shut up, shifting to see the nurse hovering in the entryway with a wheelchair. “I need to move Ms. Summers to her room now,” she said. “Visiting hours start again at nine in the morning, sir.”

Spike scowled at the label, but swallowed the rejoinder that automatically rose to his lips. Turning back to Buffy, he leaned forward to brush a light kiss across her mouth.

“I’m goin’ to be waiting outside until they let me back in again,” he said softly. “You need anything, you just give me a shout. I’ll come runnin.’”

“You need to go home,” Buffy insisted.

“I need to be where you are,” he shot back.

She glanced at the nurse before whispering, “You can’t risk the sun, Spike.”

He gave her his slyest grin. “You think I don’t know how to get into the biggest blood supplier in the city at any hour of the day?” he teased. “I’ll be fine. You just make sure you rest so that I can take you home when they say I can.”

Rising from the bed, Spike stood out of the way while Buffy moved from the bed to the chair, maintaining his best cheer until she was gone. Only then did his shoulders slump, the fear start trickling back.

He was going to call Willow and find out just what had gone wrong with the spell. And then make her swear not to touch it until they sussed it out.

* * *

Maggie hung in the background, waiting for the soldiers to disperse before approaching Graham at the door. “What can you tell me about the civilian?” she asked.

He stood at attention, even though she hadn’t said a word about it. He had been extra-careful with protocols ever since his kidnapping incident. “He’s a local, ma’am. Nineteen years old, works with Sunnydale Construction.”

“Does he have any associations with the university?”

“Not that we were able to find, ma’am.”

She nodded in approval. “Good. I’d rather interrogate him myself. I don’t like the thought that the locals are aware of our operations as his statement suggests. What’s his name again?”

“Harris. Alexander Harris.”

“Thank you. Dismissed.”

She didn’t wait to watch him leave, sliding her pass key in the lock of the cell that held the prisoner. The door opened with an electric swoosh, and she stepped inside to see the young man strapped down to the gurney.

The doctors had already done their work on him, but bandages now covered his eyes instead of the blindfold. She’d been told the blindness would be temporary, which worked in their favor. He wouldn’t be able to find their base when he was released. Maggie wasn’t certain she wanted to let him loose back in the population until she was satisfied he wasn’t a threat, though.

“Hello?” he called out. His head lifted off the small pillow, as if he could see who might have entered. “If you’re here to clean the room, I’d just like to say I’m ready to check out now. I think I’m starting to overstay my welcome.”

“I’m afraid you won’t be leaving just yet.” She stepped closer, examining his other injuries. Superficial, all of them. The burns along his shoulders were barely second degree; his clothing had protected him from the worst of the demon’s blood. “How are you feeling?”

His head fell back with a soft thump. “How am I feeling?” he repeated. “How do you think I’m feeling? My civil rights are pretty much in tatters, I have demon goo in orifices that shouldn’t ever have _any_ kind of goo in them, and your doctors keep all their instruments in the freezer. I’m doing just jim dandy, thank you.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, Maggie scribbled down a few notes on her clipboard. “Do you know where you are, Mr. Harris?”

“The seventh circle of hell? Oh, wait, that was fourth period math class.” He paused, his brow wrinkling. “How do you know my name?”

“Through the very sneaky way of looking through your wallet. Now, I’d like to talk about…”

* * *

Graham hung around outside Xander’s cell, doing his best to look inconspicuous as he strained to listen to the conversation going on inside. Dr. Walsh was the last person he wanted questioning Xander, but he couldn’t very well march in and tell her to stop. She was already watching him with an eagle eye that made him feel like the bad boy among the nuns; any day now, Walsh was going to crack and let him have it.

From what he could tell, though, it sounded like Xander was holding up his end of the deal. Graham couldn’t afford to have his secret revealed; he’d be court-martialed for sure. Worse, he wasn’t convinced that Xander was really a threat to their operations like the others seemed to think. Maybe it would be a good thing if the locals knew some of what they were doing. It would be easier to do their job, and fewer people would end up getting hurt. But that wasn’t his decision to make. His job entailed doing what he was told, rounding up the demons to bring them back for the studies, and to kill whatever was left over. His job was simple.

He was beginning to really hate his job.

When he heard Dr. Walsh’s voice get louder as she approached the door, he bolted, marching quickly away before she could catch him lurking around. He had no idea how he was going to get Harris out of the compound; the place was too heavily guarded and his movements too closely watched. Keeping him around, however, put Graham’s safety at risk, so he had to come up with something.

The something that presented itself almost made him stop in his tracks.

It was potential suicide, but considering the rock and hard place he was stuck between, Graham didn’t think he had much of a choice. This way, too, he would be exonerated should Xander’s escape fail. It was the only solution that ultimately made sense.

* * *

Even if he hadn’t been smoking, the red flare of his cigarette illuminating the harsh planes of his face, the yellow of the streetlamps above him betrayed Spike’s presence at the front of the hospital just as readily, halting Robin in his steps. He watched the vampire sit hunched against the building wall, knees drawn up, head bowed once he’d flicked away the butt. He looked like a man lost. Robin’s lip curled in disdain.

He didn’t want to be here, but maybe Spike’s presence would save him an awkward trip inside. He had yet to figure out how to get the information Travers wanted; this was as likely a method as any.

Resuming a steady pace, Robin walked up to the doors of the Emergency Room, only pretending to hesitate when he passed the black leather form. “Spike?” he asked, as if he didn’t know who the man was.

Spike lifted his head. The blue eyes were bloodshot, but Robin knew right away that it wasn’t due to alcohol or drugs. The dried tracks on his cheeks told the true story. A long minute passed where Spike just stared at him blankly, but then the eyes narrowed, the head tilting as recognition dawned.

“Buffy’s psych prof,” he announced.

“Teaching assistant,” Robin corrected automatically. He nodded in the direction of the hospital. “Kind of a funny place to be hanging out in the middle of the night, isn’t it?”

“Could say the same for you.”

Robin was ready for that. “A friend of mine was attacked tonight,” he said. “He called me to come pick him up and give him a ride home.”

“Well, they don’t call it the Hellmouth for nothin’,” Spike muttered.

He wiped wearily at his face, straightening to his full height. As it had the first time he’d seen him, Robin was surprised at how much smaller Spike was than him. In his memories, his mother’s killer had always towered over her. This demon only hit five-ten because of his boots.

“You’re not here because of Buffy, are you?” Robin asked carefully.

“Had a bit of a scare with the baby,” Spike admitted. His lashes were lowered, his gaze continuously drawn to the closed doors as if he wished he could be inside rather than out. “They’ve got her in for observation to make sure her and the little one are all right.”

“Not too serious, I hope.”

“Nah. Docs figure it’s just false labor.”

“But she’s OK?”

“She’ll be better once they let her out of this place.” At Robin’s frown, he elaborated. “She’s not right fond of hospitals. She’s not so pleased about havin’ to stick around if all they’re goin’ to do is keep an eye on her.”

“For some reason, that doesn’t surprise me,” Robin said. “Buffy’s always struck me as the independent type.” He paused. “That must drive you crazy.”

“Are you kidding? Love it. Well, most of the time. But it’s part of why I fell in love with her in the first place. She just has this way of makin’ everybody else around her…better.”

It wasn’t a confession that he wanted to hear. The ache in Spike’s voice was real, and if he hadn’t known the truth about his being a vampire, Robin would’ve been convinced that this was a man desperately in love. “That sounds like a true gift,” he murmured, unsure of what else to say.

Spike’s eyes were solemn when they looked back to Robin. “You don’t know the half of it,” he said. There was a moment of quiet contemplation, and then he asked, “You have kids?”

Robin smiled, trying to lighten the mood. “Gotta have a girl for that,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering if all this is normal,” came the reply.

“The false labor?”

Spike shook his head. “No, know enough ‘bout what’s goin’ on in her body not to be fussed about that. It’s the other part. The part I can’t touch.”

“OK, you’ve lost me.”

Reaching into his coat pocket, Spike extracted a crumpled pack of cigarettes, shaking his head when he found only one more remained inside. “Should quit,” he said to nobody in particular. “Don’t know why I keep it on when Buffy and her mum give me the evil eye every time I reach for a pack of fags.”

“Because it’s comfortable,” Robin replied. “Holding onto something you can control while the rest of the world changes around you.”

Spike grinned around the cigarette that hung from his bottom lip. “Guess I asked for the psychobabble, eh?” he said, fumbling for his lighter. A long second passed as he lit the tip, taking a deep drag and exhaling into the cool night air. “It’s just…” And Robin realized that he’d gone back to clarifying his earlier comment. “…little one’s not even born yet, yeah? Got another three months before we even know if it’s a boy or a girl. And still, it almost killed me tonight thinking something might’ve happened to it. I guess I didn’t realize just how attached to it I am already.”

Robin waited for him to continue, but that seemed to be all Spike was going to say on the matter. “I could slip into psychobabble mode again and say that mothers aren’t the only ones to bond with their unborn child, but something tells me you already know that,” he said. He shoved his hands into his pockets and took a step closer to the doors. This touchy-feely sharing session with Spike was the last thing he’d wanted when he’d stopped to talk to him, and it was leaving him with a sour taste in the back of his mouth.

“I better get going,” he said, edging even further away. “Give Buffy my best, OK?”

Spike only nodded, turning to stare into the night sky.

Robin’s hand was on the door when he paused. “Spike?” he called out.

“Yeah?”

“If Buffy’s fine, why are you still here?”

The vampire grinned. “Gotta be here when my girl wakes up, don’t I?”

He made the explanation sound so much like it should be common sense that Robin felt embarrassed for having asked. He just gave Spike a curt nod and disappeared into the hospital.

* * *

Though he never saw her face, Xander couldn’t shake the feeling that he should know the doctor who kept bugging him with questions. She was relentless, going back over the same ground again and again, never once raising her voice or making it sound like she was frustrated with his non-answers. Even when Xander made the joke comparing the vigilante demon hunters to the Keystone Kops, she didn’t crack. She just changed the subject back to why he’d been out on the edge of town in the first place.

Briefly, he wondered if he was making a mistake trusting Graham. If he told the stoic Dr. Walsh exactly how her soldier boy had lied to her…but no. That would open a can of worms that would very likely get him into worse trouble. She’d want to know how he knew what he did, and that would definitely get him stuck in a cell with someone called Moose telling him how pretty his mouth was. Growing up on a Hellmouth or not, Xander wasn’t quite ready to deal with something like that.

It also didn’t help that he couldn’t see a damn thing. Dr. Walsh and the others kept saying that the treatment had been successful, but Xander wasn’t seeing that, every pun intended. So, until he could walk out of wherever it was they were holding him without bumping into the wall instead of the doorway, he was going to have to play by their rules. Or Graham’s rules. He _really_ hoped that Graham was going to stick with his end of the deal, though how that was going to end up happening, Xander had no idea.

He heard her flip some more paper, the scratch of a pen as she wrote something else down. He had no idea what it could be; the most interesting thing he’d thought he said was that the demon goo had made his nose feel like it was running.

“You’re looking tired,” Dr. Walsh said. “I’ll be back in the morning to talk to you again. Perhaps some sleep will make you a little more…responsive.”

“You really expect me to sleep strapped down like this?” he asked. “You people have heard of bed sores, right? I happen to have extra-sensitive skin here. Keeping me in one position like this is just asking for trouble.”

She ignored his really bad lie. The next thing he knew, there was a sharp prick in the crook of his elbow, and he jumped as much as his restraints would allow.

“You didn’t get enough out of me already?” he complained. Why the hell were they taking a blood sample?

“Have a good night, Mr. Harris,” she said. The next thing he heard was the soft electronic whoosh of the door. He was alone.

Fear began to bubble inside his stomach. Nobody had known where he was all day; odds were very good that Buffy wasn’t going to come marching in for the grand rescue any minute. Even if she wasn’t pregnant, she still had no clue as to where the vigilantes were based. She would have no idea where to start looking for him.

The only person he’d even seen before going off on his brood session was Havi, and he’d been too harsh with her to think that she’d be worried about his absence any time soon.

Xander sighed. Yeah, it was all coming back to Graham. He was starting to wish he’d been a little nicer to the guy when he’d been chained up in Giles’ tub.

* * *

Having Devon knock at his door in the dead of night was nothing new to Oz. Rubbing wearily at his eyes, he pushed aside the blankets and rolled off the bed, padding silently across the room to answer it.

“I hope you remember where you left your car this time,” he commented when he opened the door. “I’d hate to run out of gas like we did last time looking for it.”

Devon just stared at him for a long moment before shaking his head blankly. “There’s some dude out front who says he needs to see you,” he said. “Says it can’t wait.”

“Is it Spike?” Oz asked.

“You think I’m so stoned I wouldn’t recognize Spike if I saw him? It’s some other dude. Not Harris, either, before you ask.”

With a frown, Oz followed Devon down the hall, continuing on to the front door when his buddy flopped back onto the couch. The door stood slightly ajar, and he pushed it further open, peering around to see the stiff form of Graham Miller waiting at the edge of the porch.

A minute of silence passed between the two men as they regarded each other.

“Huh,” Oz finally said.


	44. Him Have I Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXXXIV.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Graham has gone to see Oz, Robin has run into Spike at the hospital, and Buffy is being forced to stay in for observation…

Her sleep was restless, dreams of deformed babies and vampires hunting her down in her pregnant state keeping Buffy from getting the rest she needed. She woke with eyes that ached and nerves that refused to calm in spite of the fact that she could no longer feel any of the residual pains that had plagued her the previous night. The danger to the baby seemed to be past; everything else, she told herself, was inconsequential.

She was lightly dozing when she heard her door open, but when she cracked her eyelids to see which doctor was coming to poke at her now, Buffy was mildly surprised to see Spike hovering just inside the entrance.

“What time is it?” she asked, her voice still thick from sleep.

“Just gone eight,” Spike replied. Closing the distance between them, he sat on the edge of her bed as she rolled onto her back, his eyes darting to the swell of her stomach beneath the blankets. “How are you feelin’?”

She couldn’t help but smile softly when his hand came to rest automatically on her bump. “Physically, like I’m ready to get out of this place,” she said.

“No more pains?”

“Not a one.” What he’d said suddenly sunk in, and Buffy frowned. “I thought visiting hours didn’t start until nine.”

“They don’t. Couldn’t wait any longer.”

“Is Mom in the waiting room then?”

His eyes shuttered at the question. “I reckon she’s still at home,” he said. “I didn’t exactly go with her last night.”

His meaning made her eyes widen. “You stayed?”

Spike’s smile was shy. “’Course I did. You really think I’d get more than a few feet from where I could help if something went wrong? You and the little one are the two single most important things in this unlife of mine. You know that.”

“Well, yeah, but…” Buffy’s voice trailed away. The sudden rush of emotion from his simple testimony constricted her throat, and she could feel the distinct burn of tears in the back of her eyes. Stupid hormones, she thought, ducking her head to avoid letting him see her weakness. She hated looking like such a baby in front of him when she knew how much he valued seeing her strong. It was hard not to be touched by the sentiment of his words, though.

“Soon as I get you home again,” Spike was saying, “I’m all set to pamper you until you’re begging me to stop. I’ll even sit and watch that Steel Magnolias with you if you want. You just have to promise me not to get stroppy if all that treacle makes me heave.”

The mention of pampering pushed her over the edge. Sitting up, Buffy took Spike by surprise by throwing her arms around his neck, tugging him as close as she could in a powerful hug. “Have I mentioned yet how much I love you?” she murmured.

She felt his nose bury in her hair, his strong hands splaying across her back to hold her just as close. “Never get tired of hearing that,” he whispered. His lips moved across her shoulder, sending ripples of pleasure down her spine in spite of her lethargy. “Love you, too, pet.”

Buffy closed her eyes, letting herself sink into the safety of his embrace. If the doctors didn’t give her the green light to go home, she had a feeling both she and Spike would have words to say about that. Neither was pleased about her situation, and if the pains were gone, staying in the hospital was just keeping them apart.

More than anything else, Buffy wanted him near. She _needed_ Spike near. Regardless of what she’d said to him the previous night about not being able to help with the baby, she knew that he did other, just as important, things to keep her and Schmoo safe. That’s what she wanted right now. She figured she had it due.

* * *

Half of Willow was desperate for Buffy to get home from the hospital; the other half was terrified of facing Spike when it happened. Though she’d waited anxiously for them to come back the previous night, she’d also been relieved when Joyce had arrived alone. Things were not going to be pretty. Spike was going to want answers that she just couldn’t give him. She couldn’t even give them to herself.

Though she’d camped out with Havi for the night, Willow was the first one up and around in the morning, bustling in the kitchen with the fixings for pancakes. She was in the middle of looking around for something sweet to put in them when the phone rang, sending her skittering to answer it before it could wake up anybody else in the house.

“Summers’ residence,” she said, breathlessly.

“Willow.” There wasn’t even surprise in Oz’s voice that she’d picked up the phone. “How’s Buffy?”

“Fine, last I heard. They kept her in for observation last night. Mrs. Summers is going to go over after breakfast and see if Buffy can come home today.”

“Good. Listen, can you put Spike on the phone? I kind of need to talk to him.”

Cradling the phone in her shoulder, Willow went back to her search of the cupboards. “He’s not here,” she said. “He spent the night at the hospital. Something about keeping guard.”

“Oh.”

Something about Oz’s tone made him seem disappointed in the response, and Willow froze in mid-reach for the chocolate chips. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“Sorta. Well, no, definitely, but it’s more of a cosmic irony kind of wrong. Interesting, actually. Is Havi there?”

“Yeah, you want me to get her?”

“No, just…keep her there, will you? I’m on my way over. I’ve got somebody who needs to talk to her. I’m just going to swing by the hospital and pick up Spike first.”

He was gone before Willow could question him further, and she stood to hang up the phone with a frown back on her face. She knew it was bad, but she kind of hoped that whatever was up was enough to distract Spike and Buffy from the question of what exactly had happened with the baby. Willow was sure that all she needed was time to sort out where the spell had gone wrong. Then, she could fix it.

* * *

When the docs kicked him out of Buffy’s room so that they could look her over in private, the last person Spike expected to run into in the waiting room was Oz.

“Joyce send you over?” he asked.

“Actually, I came looking for you.”

Spike immediately stiffened. “This isn’t about---,” he started, but Oz was swift to cut him off.

“I’m pretty sure there’s no way in hell you could ever guess,” he said. “Remember Giles’ little houseguest a few months back?”

It took a few seconds for Spike to understand what Oz was referring to. “He hasn’t had another surprise visit, has he?” he asked, stepping away from the busier part of the room so that their conversation could continue without the benefit of eavesdroppers.

“No. I have.”

Spike listened as Oz detailed what Graham had shared, the story of Xander’s capture and subsequent interrogation, ending with Graham’s arrival on Oz’s doorstep. When Oz was done speaking, Spike shook his head.

“He’s got stones of steel, I’ll give the wanker that much,” he commented.

“Actually, I think I kind of believe him.”

“You’re kiddin’, right? You lot kept him in chains in Rupert’s _bathtub_. You really expect a fella to have your best intentions at heart after something like that? I know I’d be lookin’ to rip out a few throats if it was me.”

“I know. I think it would make me a little cranky, too. But I called Xander’s mom and she confirmed that he didn’t come home last night. That jives with what Graham claims.”

“Oh, I’m not sayin’ he’s not on the up-and-up about Harris gettin’ snatched,” Spike said. “I just think it’s a set-up and your glasses are just a bit too rosy to see it properly.”

Oz stuffed his hands in his pockets, his eyes unwavering. “Is this your way of saying you don’t want to help us get Xander back?” he asked. “I mean, if you’d rather hang around here waiting for Buffy, that’s cool. I’m sure Buffy would appreciate that.”

It took all of Spike’s control not to roll his eyes in disgust. The wolf knew exactly what buttons to push, and if it was anybody else, Spike would rip his head off for even trying such a tactic. But Oz also had a point. If Harris really was in trouble---and knowing him, he probably was---Buffy would’ve been the first in line to help him if it wasn’t for her condition. Hell, she’d likely do it even being pregnant. Spike would come out with the short end of the stick if he didn’t at least offer to lend a hand.

“Lemme find out what’s goin’ on with Buffy first,” Spike said. “If the docs make her stay on, we can go after Harris then.”

“Are you going to tell her about Xander?”

“And give her even more rubbish to fuss about?” He shook his head. “She’s got enough on her mind without worrying about Harris, too.”

Together, they waited until the doctor emerged from Buffy’s room. Once Spike heard the news that they wanted to keep her in at least through the afternoon, he nodded to Oz before slipping in to see Buffy.

In spite of her swollen belly, she looked tiny in the sterile bed. “Doctors can be incredibly unreasonable, you know that?” she commented when she saw it was Spike. Reaching for the TV remote, she edged to the side to make room for him to come join her. “I’m counting on you to tell me where the good stuff is,” she said, turning the set on. “But no soaps. Or Jerry Springer. I don’t care how much you love the fights.”

“Actually, luv, I have to step out for a bit.” The announcement took her by surprise, and he hastened to fill the silence before she started asking questions he didn’t want to answer. “Oz needs me to help sort a situation for him. Shouldn’t be too long, and your mum will be around in just a few anyway. I’m sure she’ll chatter more than enough to make you forget I’m not even here.”

“Oh. OK.”

But her disappointment was more than evident, driving Spike to her side to pull her into his arms. “I’ll be back before the doc comes by to check on you this afternoon,” he said, brushing a kiss across her temple. “And I’ll make it up to you tonight. I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that promise,” she murmured. She was soft and pliant in his arms, making it even harder for him to let her go. “Can the promise come with ice cream, too?”

His lips quirked. “I assume chocolate will suffice.”

“It will suffice just nicely, thank you.”

With one last kiss, Spike broke free, ambling to the door and back out to Oz. Neither man said a word as they headed for the parking lot, though Spike imagined that would change once they got to the Summers’ household. Even if he didn’t really care for Havi, he knew one thing for sure. She was protective of her own, and if there was one thing she’d taken possession of since coming to the Hellmouth, it was Xander Harris.

* * *

Maggie wasn’t entirely sure what to do with the young man. His answers had been thoroughly useless, and she was fairly certain that he’d been mocking her more than once with references she didn’t quite get. If he’d been one of her students, she would’ve failed him without blinking, or made him so miserable that he would’ve dropped out of her class and made her life infinitely easier. He wasn’t, though. He was a potential threat if he leaked what he suspected to the public. She just wasn’t sure yet what he knew exactly.

She was still lost in her decision-making when the knock came at her door. Bidding the visitor to come in, she closed the file in time to look up and see the private hovering in the entrance. “Yes?” Maggie prompted.

“I checked everywhere but Miller isn’t in the compound,” he said.

“Try him at the frat house, then.”

“I already have. He hasn’t been seen since dropping off the prisoner last night.”

The announcement puzzled Maggie, and she dismissed the soldier with a frown already marring her features. It was unlike Graham to behave in this manner; ever since his unfortunate experience with the demonhunters, his deportment had been exemplary. Perfect, even.

The correlation made her pause. Hadn’t one of the other soldiers said that he’d thought Harris knew Graham? The other two had denied hearing such a claim, and nothing Xander had said during his interrogation hinted that the claim held any validity. Maggie had dismissed it out of hand.

But what if the soldier had been right? Was there somehow a link between the two young men? Why else would Graham disappear so thoroughly?

Picking up the phone, she punched in the extension she wanted and opened up the file as she waited for someone to answer. “Prep Exam Room Four,” she ordered. “Has our new guest been given medical clearance for further examinations yet?”

“Not yet, ma’am. Another eight to ten hours, the doctors say.”

Maggie sighed. “Fine. Just have the exam room ready for then. I’ll be conducting an additional interrogation with Mr. Harris. Make sure the doctors know that I expect him to be in the proper condition for it.”

She hung up without waiting for a response. Though she wasn’t happy about having to wait, she also knew that she could make the situation worse if she used what few drugs they had before Harris’ body could handle it. She wanted the young man able to speak, not in a coma. More importantly, she wanted to know what the connection between him and Miller was, once and for all.

* * *

For once, Spike didn’t hold Havi back when she acted out.

Lounging against the door jamb, he watched with amusement as she slammed Graham into the wall, creating a new crack in the plaster, with Willow and Oz scrambling to pull her off.

Havi wasn’t budging.

“If he is hurt,” she hissed, “you will never know such pain as that I will cause you. I will---.”

“We really don’t need the visual,” Willow interrupted, tugging at the arm Havi had pressed against Graham’s throat. “And besides, if you rip out his vocal cords, he can’t tell us how to get Xander out, now can he?”

“But I will feel _much_ better,” Havi said. But her grip eased enough for Oz to pull Graham away from the wall, letting Willow guide her to a stand a few feet away.

“He didn’t have to come to us,” Oz said.

“Anyone thought to ask yet just why he did?” Spike commented. When all eyes turned to him, he shrugged. “I _know_ I’m not the only one thinkin’ set-up here. And if you’re not, then shame on you for bein’ just this short of stupid.”

The room fell silent, attention shifting back to Graham. The focus didn’t ruffle his composure, and he leveled a clear gaze to Havi.

“I’m not going to lie,” he said. “I think you guys are crazy for trusting HST’s like you do.” His head jerked in Spike’s direction. “He’ll turn on you. People you care about will die. That’s a given. It’s what vampires do.”

“He’s a friend,” Oz said.

“That doesn’t change what he is.” Something fleeting passed behind Graham’s eyes. “But…that doesn’t have anything to do with why I came here. I made a deal with Xander to help him get out if he didn’t let anybody know that he was part of the group that kidnapped me in September. He kept his word. It’s time for me to keep mine.”

Willow frowned. “If you knew who was holding you,” she asked, “why would you lie about it to your bosses? I would’ve thought you’d come after us the first chance you got.”

Spike saw the way the soldier glanced at Oz and remembered the day soon before Graham had escaped that Oz had spent hours in the bathroom. Something had obviously been said between the two, something that inspired trust on either end, but he had a funny feeling that the details of that meeting would forever remain a mystery.

“Let’s just say, I came to believe that what we’d done in taking the HS--- _Oz_ , into custody wasn’t exactly in anyone’s best interest,” Graham said. “I told my superiors that I’d been kidnapped by demonhunters who were after the werewolf as well. When one got hospitalized soon after that in a coma, they decided to believe me.”

Havi blanched at the indirect mention of Baltozar. “Why come to us to help free Xander?” she asked. “You went to great efforts to keep your organization a secret. Why are you risking discovery by coming to us now?”

Spike might not like Havi, but he couldn’t help but admire her shrewd mind. She was the only one of the other three treating the situation with the gravity it required. He would’ve preferred watching her beat the soldier to a bloody pulp, but at least the questions were getting put onto the table now. It was about time.

“Because I can’t do it on my own,” Graham said. “The place is a fortress. It’s designed to be that way. It’s been operating under your noses for months now, and not once has a civilian stumbled across what we haven’t wanted to be found.”

“Well, that’s not exactly true,” Willow said. “We saw you snatching the vampires more than once.”

“But you never found our base of operations. And you wouldn’t have had me in your custody so long if you hadn’t had outside help. Getting your friend out isn’t going to be easy.”

“Are we talking spooning salt into a glass or a lake?” Oz asked.

Spike’s mouth twitched into a half-smile when he saw the confusion in Havi and Graham’s faces. He doubted either had ever even read Siddharta to recognize the reference; it was one of the many reasons he liked the werewolf so much.

“I can get you into the compound through one of the back ways,” Graham said, ignoring Oz’s question. “From there, though, you’re going to have to be on your own. I can’t risk my superiors finding out about my involvement.”

“You would trust us with that?” Havi asked.

“You’re trusting me,” came the reply. “It works both ways.”

“I can use my magic to find Xander,” Willow volunteered. “And a sort-of glamour to shield our presence once we’re down there.”

“S’pose that makes me and Studs your muscle then,” Spike said.

Graham’s head snapped to the side, his eyes wide as he stared at Spike in disbelief. “You’re not going,” he said.

“I told you---,” Oz started.

“I don’t care,” Graham interrupted. “He’s a vampire.”

Spike shrugged. “You think you can get him out without my help, be my guest. It’ll make for a good laugh after when you get your ass kicked.”

“We need him. He comes.”

Nobody was more shocked than Spike to hear Havi sound out so adamantly about his contribution to the team. He’d certainly never given her a reason to welcome his aid, and though they’d had their moments of détente over the past few months, they’d had even more friction. When he quirked an eyebrow at her in question, however, her face remained impassive.

“Xander is his friend as well,” Havi continued.

“Well, I wouldn’t go _that_ far, Studs---.”

“---and we will require as many allies as possible. He comes whether you care for him or not.”

Graham clearly didn’t like the ultimatum, but the determination in the faces around him seemed enough to keep him from arguing further. Pressing his lips together, he just shook his head, folding his arms across his chest as he said, “You’re all crazy, you know that?”

“Yeah, but it's OK,” Willow said with a bright smile. “Pretty soon, you don’t even notice the crazy.”

“We should go,” Havi said. “We’ve wasted enough time already. We need to get Xander back.”

Graham’s gaze flickered from Spike to the drawn curtains. “But…it’s daylight.”

“You think I let a little thing like that stop me?” Spike drawled. He grabbed his blanket from where he’d draped it over the banister. “Studs is right. Let’s go.”

* * *

The one advantage to working for the Council---if Robin could call being co-opted against his better judgment _working_ \---was that it gave him an excuse to go see Lydia at the house and hopefully run into Esme again. Her words from their first meeting still haunted his waking thoughts and some of his sleeping ones as well; he needed to see just how far she was willing to go or the possibilities would never stop offering themselves.

Lydia came out when he pulled up in front of the house, her arms hugging her slim body. “Wesley has gone to visit Rupert,” she said when Robin approached. “But we must still be discreet. The…woman we’ve been assigned to watch over is rather inquisitive.”

Robin nodded, though he was slightly disappointed when Lydia lingered outside instead of inviting him in. “Did he go in because of Buffy?” he asked.

“Do you know something? Mr. Travers said---.”

“Buffy’s fine. As much as I can tell, it really is false labor. Nothing for the Council to worry about.”

“Wesley and Rupert will be glad to hear that.”

“And Quentin?”

When she stiffened at his casual use of the Council Head’s first name, it took all of Robin’s will not to shake his head in annoyance. He wasn’t as intimidated by the old man like those who worked directly in his employ, and he knew that Lydia was more than a little miffed that he’d been pulled in to help with the Council’s plans. She’d seen this as her way to wheedle herself back into Quentin’s good graces, and now it appeared as if Robin was thwarting those efforts. He had little tolerance for such childish behavior.

“We need to discuss our next step,” she said, sidestepping his question. “Mr. Travers is very eager for our guarantee that he’ll be able to control the Slayer before she can give birth.”

Robin gestured at the surrounding area. “And you want to do it out here when you’ve got a perfectly good indoors where we won’t get windburn and chapped lips?” he asked.

“Well, I thought---.”

“That’s your problem, Lydia. You think too much.” Pushing past her, his hand was on the doorknob before she could stop him, turning it and pushing the door open to step off the porch.

“We can’t,” Lydia hissed, close on his heels. “Esme---.”

“Is right here.” The old woman’s voice made Lydia stop, but Robin’s gaze was unwavering when he met the witch’s dark eyes. “She does so like talking about me as if I wasn’t a real person. It’s frustrating, actually.”

The question of how Esme was going to react to his presence was answered when she stepped forward and stuck out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said. He saw the cunning flicker in her eyes and wondered how Lydia could be so blind to it. “I’m Esme. Lydia’s…aunt. You must be the young man she keeps talking about.”

He decided to keep up the charade and gave her his most gracious smile. “Just call me Robin,” he said.

“Why don’t you go put some tea on, Lydia?” Esme said. “It’ll give me a chance to talk to your young man.”

“I hardly think---.”

“Tea sounds lovely,” Robin interjected.

Lydia looked less than pleased, but after a worried glance between them, she disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Esme to pull Robin over to the couch.

“Well, this is certainly interesting,” she said in a voice he was certain couldn’t be heard from the other room.

“You know about Lydia’s…project?” he asked.

Esme smiled. “I know enough. She’s explained you to Wesley by calling you her boyfriend. He’s not aware of your heritage.” Her eyes gleamed in anticipation. “Does your presence here mean you’ve given some thought to what I said to you?”

His mouth went suddenly dry. He hadn’t really thought after he’d left the hospital; he’d just gotten into his car and driven until he found himself on Lydia’s doorstep. “I suppose it means I have,” he said carefully.

Something in her face softened, but he had no clue as to why. “It must sting to know that William the Bloody is leading such a gratifying existence now,” she said. Her tone was soothing, and Robin couldn’t help but nod. It was the truth, after all. “If I had my powers back, I could make it so that he paid for eternity for what he did to your mother. That kind of loss deserves some kind of retribution, don’t you think?”

“But you don’t,” Robin said.

“I could. If you helped me. And then I’d give you what you wish for the most. For Spike to hurt just as much as you do.”

And there it was. The offer he’d been refusing to consciously acknowledge ever since he’d left her the first time. The promise of it was a double-edged sword, an allure that could potentially damn him forever.

“I don’t…” he started, but then he did. He saw Spike’s face in the hollow light of the hospital, heard the devotion for a child not yet born, and the potential of how much grief he could cause made his heart beat even faster. “The baby…”

Esme smiled, a slash of malice that would’ve chilled him at any other time. “Of course,” she whispered. “Tit for tat. He killed your mother, and you would take away his child. I do like the symmetry of that.”

So did Robin. Too much.

“But---.”

“You could have that,” she was saying. Her hand clawed into his thigh, and she was suddenly so close that Robin could see the individual flecks in her eyes. Some of them gleamed gold; he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen that before. “All I need is my magic back. You do that for me, and I’ll make sure Spike suffers more than you could ever dream.”

“How?”

Her next words were barely a breath. “Kill Willow Rosenberg, and it’ll all come true.”


	45. Against Myself I'll Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: the characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LXXXVIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy has to stay in the hospital, the gang has decided to go rescue Xander, and Esme has given Robin a choice to make…

He made his excuses to leave as soon as Lydia came out of the kitchen. Esme’s words echoed inside Robin’s skull, the possibilities of what she was suggesting making him run alternately hot and cold as he slid into the front seat of his car.

He wasn’t a murderer. He couldn’t do what she was suggesting. Willow Rosenberg was an innocent, a remarkable young woman with a bright future ahead of her. It was impossible to consider that he could take that away from her.

And what about Buffy? She’d always seemed so happy about the pregnancy, regardless of its odd origins. What right did Robin have to tarnish that in any way?

But then, his mother’s voice filled his head, the memories flooding him with increasing dread of each and every time she’d argued with him about her “mission,” about how he had to step back, stay out of her way so that she could make killing these monsters her primary purpose. How he had hated her mission, hated that it had taken her away from him, hated that he had never been important enough or good enough to supercede the calling that drove her to her inevitable death.

Buffy’s child would always be second-best. She would make promises that she would then break because something apocalyptic would come along to distract her from the one thing that loved her most in this world.

Then she would die. And the child would be all on its own, with a legacy of confusion and an evil vampire for a so-called father.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to blot out the thoughts. The fact that he was even considering this made him sick to his stomach. There had to be limits; somewhere a line had to be drawn. If he killed Willow---an innocent---wouldn’t that make him just as much of a monster as Spike?

He needed to speak to Buffy. Glancing at the clock on the dash, Robin remembered Spike’s words, the assurance that the Slayer would be released in the morning. It was now close to ten. Odds were she was already home, and since Revello Drive was nearer than the hospital, he’d swing by there first. Seeing Buffy would clear his head.

What he actually saw sent his thoughts muddling in an entirely new direction. As he was about to turn the corner onto Buffy’s street, he glanced down in time to see a smoking form make a mad dash for the van packed in the drive. Willow and a tall woman he didn’t recognize followed right after, but it was the second pair emerging from the Summers’ house that made Robin frown.

Oz, he expected. He’d recognized the van as his. But the muscular young man at his side carried himself with the stiff posture of the military, broad shoulders back, minimal upper body movement. Robin squinted, examining him closer. He _knew_ him. He’d seen him with Maggie a couple of times over the past semester; he was one of her soldier boys.

It wasn’t until the van had backed into the street that he remembered the name. Graham Miller. Funny, but he’d never thought they were all friends. Unless…had Maggie asked the same of Graham that she’d asked of Riley and Robin?

Since they were all leaving the house, Robin assumed that meant Buffy was still at the hospital. He waited at the stop sign for the van to pass, following at a discreet distance as they made their way into town. When they turned onto campus and away from the hospital, however, Robin’s unease returned. Perhaps one of them had forgotten something, he reasoned.

Except they drove past the dorms, past the frat houses, past any building that might’ve offered interest to them. They exited the rear of campus and joined traffic that would take them toward the large industrial park utilized by the university. He lost them at a red light.

When he finally found the abandoned van on the side of the road and no sign of its occupants, Robin reached for his phone. He had no idea where she would be, so he tried her cell first. He was relieved when she answered on the second ring.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Maggie said. “I didn’t think I’d hear from you again much before classes started up.”

“I didn’t have this on my agenda this morning, either,” he replied. “But something came up, and I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“I hope it’s not something that’s spoiling your holiday.”

“No, no. Just…how long have you had Graham Miller assigned to your Slayer business?”

There was a long silence. When Maggie finally spoke, the controlled neutrality of her voice was more revealing than anything she might have said.

“Why would you think I do?” she asked.

Briefly, he described what he’d seen at the Summers’ house, ending with his trek through campus. “As much as I’ve seen Buffy and her friends this semester,” he said, “not once have I seen them with Miller. They’ve never even mentioned him in passing.”

“It must be a recent acquaintance. He’s not there in any official capacity.” She paused. “Where did you say you last saw them?”

By the time he got off the phone, Robin was feeling marginally better. Whatever was going on had nothing to do with Buffy; he could rest easier that Maggie hadn’t switched around her plans to try a more aggressive approach with the Slayer.

Doing a U-turn in the road, he headed back in the direction of the hospital. He still needed to talk to her. At least he was assured that he wouldn’t have Spike around this time.

* * *

“This is one of our emergency entrances,” Graham said, leading them through the empty warehouse. “It’s rarely used due to its remote location, and it leads almost directly into the infirmary where security is lower.”

“I still can’t believe it,” Willow said in amazement. “The entire operation is _underground_? How did you ever do that much work excavating without anybody in town noticing?”

“We didn’t. One of the reasons Sunnydale was chosen as a base of operations was the network of subterranean tunnels and caverns already in place. The way I understand it, Mayor Wilkins was very accommodating about a lot of things in order to get the contract.”

Oz’s mouth twisted in amusement. “The giant demon snake approving the construction of a giant demon collection agency? This day’s just full of cosmic irony, isn’t it?”

“Where are they keeping Xander?” Havi asked.

“I don’t know,” Graham admitted. “He was being interrogated in one of the holding cells, but he was also being treated for the HST attack last night. If you’re lucky, he was moved back for observation.”

Spike suddenly kicked at an empty pallet. “Observation,” he muttered with disgust.

Oz clapped a supportive hand on Spike’s shoulder, the pair of them walking in silence until Spike pulled himself straight again.

“Just remember,” Graham said, stopping at a large grate in the floor. “This is a top-notch facility. You _will_ be outnumbered, and you _will_ be outgunned.”

“They got a Red?” Spike asked.

It wasn’t until Oz nodded toward Willow that Graham understood. “Oh,” he said. “No. Not really.”

“Then I’d say it’s not so mismatched as you might think.” Crouching, Spike curled his fingers through the grate and pulled, tossing it aside with ease. “Let’s get this over with. Promised Buffy I’d be back before they looked her over again and I don’t intend to go back on my word just ‘cause Harris can’t keep his ass out of trouble.”

“Oh, like he’s never helped save yours,” Willow teased.

“Takin’ movies back to Blockbuster before they’re overdue doesn’t count,” he shot back.

The banter continued as each descended through the hole in the floor. Graham just shook his head,

“They’re all going to die,” he murmured when the last head disappeared.

* * *

Getting down was easy. Getting ten feet into the compound was not.

“Halt!”

Willow almost bumped into Spike’s back before she realized he’d obeyed the barked command. Peeking around his shoulder, she saw six armed soldiers blocking the end of the hallway.

“Knew it was a bloody trap,” she heard Spike mutter.

“I said, halt!” The soldier in front took a step closer, tilting the aim of his gun off to Willow’s side. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Havi freeze in her paces, though her crossbow remained ready.

“Lower your weapons!”

Spike held up his hands. “Do these count?” he asked. “Never can tell when it comes to you blokes.”

The lead soldier ignored the sarcasm, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the group. “Where’s Miller?”

“As a matter of fact---.”

Willow pinched Spike to shut him up. He glared at her, but stepped aside when she pushed her way to the front.

“Hi,” she said brightly, waggling her fingers in greeting. “Who did you say you were looking for?”

“Not you,” the soldier barked.

“Are you sure? ‘Cause it kind of sounded like my name you said.”

“What the hell are you doin’, Red?”

It was barely a hiss, but she kept her perky façade focused on the threat ahead of them. “Trust me, Spike,” she whispered, trying not to move her lips too much. “Oh. And step back.”

The power had been tingling in her palms since the first command, gathering strength as she waited for the right moment. As she heard the lead soldier start to issue the order about searching for Miller, she decided the moment had come.

The spell tumbled from her lips. It was one she’d been working on to use when she finally got the chance to patrol, and she’d been anxious to give it a go at something that didn’t have leaves. Maintenance was beginning to be a little suspicious about all the scorch marks on the trees around the back of the dorm. She had to alter it for these purposes, though, since these were actual people she was targeting instead of demons. She didn’t want to kill them; she just wanted to incapacitate them long enough to get by.

The flames seemed to jump from the walls. The soldiers had been wary of an attack from the front, but when fire exploded inward, it took all but Willow by surprise, making everybody in the gang jump back toward the ladder while the soldiers’ uniforms burst into a cascade of orange and red.

It only lasted a moment. The fire disappeared just as the soldiers slumped to the floor. Their clothing was charred and ragged, burns already mottling their exposed skin, and she could see the welts swelling on their hands from where they’d been holding their weapons.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Spike exploded.

“Wasn’t it neat?” Her smile was brilliant, but when she twisted to face the others, Willow was surprised to see the various looks of worry and disapproval. “What?”

“You couldn’t have just put them to sleep or something?” Oz asked.

Her delight faltered. “I didn’t have that spell ready,” she explained. “And the way’s clear now, right? That’s what we wanted.”

“Yeah, well, at least one of us is even more flammable than you,” Spike complained.

“I told you to step back!”

“You didn’t say you were turnin’ the walls into the towering inferno!”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Enough.” Havi shifted the crossbow in her arms and began heading toward the entrance into the compound at the end of the hall. “We must find Xander as quickly as possible. They are alert to our presence now.”

Avoiding Spike’s dirty look, Willow hurried after Havi, with the men close on her heels. They moved deeper into the secure area, following the only path they could, until they reached a t-junction.

Spike sniffed the air pointedly. “Infirmary’s thataway,” he said, pointing off to the left.

Havi’s head jerked to the right as the faint murmur of male voices became louder. “There are more soldiers coming from this direction,” she said.

“We need to split up,” Willow said. “Havi and I will hold off the soldiers, while Oz and Spike find Xander.”

“I’m not leaving you alone,” Oz argued.

“I’m not,” she said. “I have Havi. And besides, you and Spike are the two with the super sniffers. You’ll find Xander faster than I could.”

“Red’s got a point. Besides, I don’t fancy bein’ in her line of fire when she starts with the mojo again.”

A shout that was louder than the rest made everybody stiffen. “Go,” Willow ordered. “We don’t have time to fight about this.”

She didn’t even wait to watch the two men head off in the opposite direction. She raced forward, the magic already humming through her veins.

* * *

Though it hadn’t been that way from the start, Spike liked having Oz at his side when they were out. The boy wasn’t strong in his human form, and he sometimes had the grace of a newborn foal, but his instincts were impeccable, his senses so sharp and alert that he could easily match Spike when they were out on patrol. Searching for Harris was no exception.

The infirmary was unexpectedly empty, room after room bare of anything resembling life. Spike didn’t recognize much of the equipment, but technology had never been his thing. What was important was that the blocks he’d expected to find weren’t there. If Miller had set them up, there should’ve been even more than the six armed soldiers at the entrance. There should’ve been an entire fleet of them

Spike shoved aside the question of Miller’s duplicity. It was pointless to try and answer it when they still hadn’t found Harris. As long as the soldier didn’t get in their way, that was all Spike cared about. He needed to get the lot of them out of there without anybody getting hurt or Buffy would never forgive him. She had enough to worry about.

They met their first opposition in front of a bay of elevators. Jumping forward, Spike knocked out the first soldier with a left hook before any of them could take aim, listening as Oz readied his weapon behind them. He slammed a second face-first into the wall, while a third dropped a few feet away, an arrow embedded in its shoulder.

“We must be getting close,” Oz said.

Spike sniffed. Beneath the antiseptic was the musk of more than humans; there were demons, more than he could identify, also filtering through the air. “They’re not just interested in vampires,” he said, once the last of the soldiers had fallen. “It’s a veritable zoo in here.”

With a frown, Oz looked around, his gaze stopping when it landed on a door past the elevators. “I smell slime,” he said.

“Could be a chaos demon.”

“Xander hasn’t wreaked enough havoc to be called that just yet.” He jerked his head down a narrow hall. “He’s down there.”

They hurried until the scent started to fade, at which point they stopped and turned back to the nearest door. “Any clues how to get in?” Oz asked, when they failed to spot a door knob or handle.

Lifting his foot, Spike slammed the heel of his boot along the edge of the door, feeling the pressure of hinges fighting back. He shifted to kick at the opposite side, but it took almost half a dozen before the door started to buckle.

“Nobody’s home!” they heard Xander shout from inside.

“We’ll just leave you be then!” Spike yelled back.

There was a pause. “Spike?”

“No, it’s Mary bloody Poppins!” Throwing his full weight against the door’s weakness, Spike broke it open with a growl, tumbling inside with Oz right behind.

It was a room much like those in the infirmary, with equipment beeping and glowing along the wall. In the single bed, Xander was strapped down, skin pale, bandages covering his eyes. Spike hung back as Oz began undoing the restraints, his nose twitching at the distinct smell of blood that still hung in the air.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” Xander said. He stumbled slightly as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. “Figuratively speaking, of course.”

“Just wait to see what we have to get through to get you out,” Spike said.

Oz let Xander lean against him as Spike checked out the hallway for signs of any more soldiers. “Don’t pirates usually only have one patch?” he commented as they inched their way back in the direction from which they’d come.

“It was either this or the peg leg,” Xander said. “And I kind of like having both feet.”

“You just want Studs to wait on you when we get you out of here.”

Spike heard the slight speeding of Xander’s pulse before the boy said, “Havi’s here?”

“Who do you think led this cavalry?” Spike asked.

“I didn’t think---.”

The sharp retort of a gun cut him off, and Spike twisted to take the bullet in the back before it could hit either Oz or Xander, throwing his arms around both men to push them to the floor.

“Why are there guns?” Xander said, his voice rising in hysteria. “Didn’t you guys get rid of the guards before you rescued me?”

“You want us to put you back?” Spike asked.

“I want there to be no shooting.”

“Me, too. Stay down. And keep your eyes shut.”

“Very funny.”

In a swirl of black leather, Spike leapt from his position on the floor, snarling as he attacked the three men approaching them. He’d been wary of killing anyone since their arrival, knowing Buffy wouldn’t be happy if she found out, but now was not the time to be delicate. They were outnumbered, just like Miller had said. It was time to play hardball.

The first’s neck snapped with a satisfying crunch, leaving the second gaping at him with wide eyes. Spike flashed a little fang, sneering around his teeth, before slamming his elbow into the solar plexus of the unsuspecting third. His foot connected with the second soldier’s balls only an instant later, and he turned back to see Oz and Xander where he’d left them with all three attackers out for the count.

Oz didn’t say a word, but the slight shake of his head was enough warning for Spike to keep his lips zipped about what had just happened.

“One of those wasn’t Dr. Walsh, was it?” Xander asked. “Because after all her questions, I think I wouldn’t mind hearing that she got a little payback for keeping me here.”

Oz hesitated in helping Xander back to his feet. “Walsh?” he repeated.

“Yeah, that’s the witch who’s in charge of this place. She _really_ doesn’t know how to take no for an answer.”

“That’s Willow and Buffy’s psych teacher.” Oz met Spike’s gaze, and they both came to the realization at the same time.

“Buffy’s not going to be happy about this,” Spike said.

“Buffy’s going to be even less happy if we don’t get out of here alive,” Xander said.

“I don’t think she’d be the only one unhappy,” Oz said. “Let’s get Willow and Havi before our luck starts going the wrong way.”

Spike agreed and led the way back down the hall, passing the elevators and listening as the distant sound of gunfire became louder and louder. Worry began to gnaw at his gut, and when they reached the point where they’d split up, he stopped, staring down the corridor. The girls were nowhere to be seen, and the unmistakable smell of smoke was drifting closer and closer.

“What’s wrong?” Xander asked. “Why have we stopped?”

“Get him out of here,” Spike instructed. “I’ll go get the girls.”

But before Oz could move, Xander pulled away, tripping as he knocked into the wall he didn’t expect to find.

“I’m not leaving them behind,” he said. He stretched out his arms, trying to find where Spike was standing.

“Stop it,” Spike grumbled, knocking away Xander’s hands when they fumbled with his duster.

“You can’t do anything,” Oz said. “In case you haven’t noticed, Xander, you’re a little bit blind at the moment.”

“I’m a little bit rock and roll, too, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let either of them get hurt.”

“Just stay out of the way,” Spike ordered. “I don’t want to have to rescue you twice.”

Leading the other men down the hall, Spike followed the fight he could hear, hoping that it didn’t look as bad as it sounded. When he pushed open a heavy door, he found himself on a scaffolding above a large open area that looked very much like it had just come out of some sci-fi movie. The noise was louder here, the air pungent with the scent of sulfur, and it took him nearly ten seconds of scanning the area below before he saw what he was looking for.

Havi and Willow had positioned themselves behind a motorized car that had been blown onto its side. The area in front of them glowed from the magic the witch was using to protect the vehicle from being used as an incendiary device. Both girls were busy fighting off the soldiers who seemed to be crawling out of the woodwork, Havi shooting and reloading her crossbow as fast as she could while Willow was throwing fireballs every which way in hopes of hitting anything that wasn’t them.

“What’s going on?” Xander asked when neither Oz or Spike said anything right away.

It was then that the glint of light off metal caught Spike’s eye. Turning his head to the left, he saw the sniper narrow his eyes as he sighted down the barrel of the rifle he had aimed at the scene below. The trigger was squeezed before Spike could react, and he shifted his attention back to the women just in time to see the bullet slam into Willow’s back.

She crumpled like a rag doll, the fires suddenly stopping, the glow surrounding the overturned car vanishing even more quickly. Blood began pooling beneath her body, and it was already coating the floor in scarlet when Havi turned and noticed she’d fallen.

Throwing aside her weapon, Havi fell to Willow’s side, her long hands reaching to turn the witch over. Even from that distance, Spike could see that Willow’s chest wasn’t moving, and when Havi’s fingers pressed to the pulse point in the other woman’s neck, he knew before she did what she was going to find.

Nothing.

Willow was dead.


	46. Ladies Dead and Lovely Knights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CVI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Robin called Maggie when he saw Graham with Oz and Willow, alerting her to their impending arrival, so that when they broke in to rescue Xander, the gang was ambushed, ending with Willow getting shot in the back…

The force of it made her drop the tea cup she was rinsing out in the sink. She wasn’t even aware of the shards of glass slicing through her paper-thin skin, or the rivulets of blood that mingled with the tea washing down the drain.

It was fire across her flesh.

Fire through her veins.

Power she’d long thought she’d never feel again, though she’d kept up the semblance of hope when she navigated through her day.

Inside her fragile ribcage, her heart began to accelerate, trying to catch up with the pounding rhythms of the magic that was slamming back into her system, eager to relearn its old patterns. Esme gripped the edge of the counter in an attempt to stave away the vertigo insistent on taking control, and barely heard Lydia’s concerned voice filter from the other room.

It couldn’t be. It was too soon. He would never have worked that quickly.

Would he?

The world glowed brightly around her, burning at the edges of her retinas in brilliance she hadn’t experienced in decades. The truth was undeniable. It didn’t make a difference how it happened, or that young Robin Wood had acted much faster than she’d imagined he would. What mattered was that her magic was back.

It burned within her. As brightly as if it had never left.

But before she could fully rejoice in her newfound power, Esme collapsed to the kitchen floor.

* * *

The bed was cold beneath Buffy’s back, but she was doing her best to try and ignore that fact. There were other, more pressing things weighing her down, and they were doing everything in their power to keep her heart jumping like some kind of southwestern bean.

“Spike’s going to be so pissed he missed this,” she said to her mother.

Joyce hovered at the side of the bed, watching the technician spread the gel across Buffy’s exposed stomach. “I’m sure he’ll understand,” she assured. “He hasn’t been able to attend one of your ultrasounds yet. This shouldn’t be any different.”

“The difference is that this could’ve been his only chance to actually see Schmoo.” Buffy’s gaze hopped between the monitor at the side of the bed and the shiny expanse of her tummy. “I just hate that he’s losing out on it.”

“He’ll understand,” Joyce repeated. “He just wants you two to be healthy.”

“Yeah, well, we would’ve been just as healthy or not in a couple hours when he gets back.” She grimaced as she watched the technician maneuver the transducer to get the best scan. “At least this means I get to pee soon. Schmoo’s been tap dancing on my bladder for an hour now.”

“You’ve got an active little baby here,” the technician said. “It doesn’t want to stop moving around.”

“See?” Buffy pointed at the monitor. “Nobody ever believes me.”

“You’re holding off on finding out the sex, right?”

Buffy took a second too long to answer the tech, compelling Joyce to peer at her with a frown.

“Did you and Spike change your minds?” she asked.

“Well, no.” Buffy flushed. “Spike still doesn’t want to know, but…”

“You do?”

It was a gentle prompt, but it was still enough for her to be embarrassed about her growing desire. “It would just make it so much easier,” Buffy said. “Picking out clothes, picking out a name. I don’t get why Spike is being so difficult about this.”

Joyce cast a wary eye toward the technician before replying. “You know how he can be…old-fashioned. He likes to pretend a good game, but deep down, he’s still William. You should know that better than anybody.”

“You’re right, you’re right.” She turned back to the tech. “No telling. Just call it Schmoo.”

“Understood.” The trio lapsed into silence, but it only lasted for a few seconds. All too soon, the technician frowned and leaned forward, examining the monitor more closely.

“Your records said that they found some anomalies in your last scan,” she said.

“Yeah,” Buffy said. “Some kind of shadow.”

“Then I’ve got good news for you.” She shifted to smile encouragingly at the two Summers women. “It’s completely clear. Schmoo looks happy and healthy. I don’t see any reason why the doctor would keep you any longer when he sees you this afternoon.”

Buffy sagged against her pillows. Relief flooded her body, her hands straying automatically to her tummy. Thank god, there was one less thing for her to worry about. Everybody had been right after all. It was just one of those freaky pregnancy things that she over-reacted to as normal. Stupid hormones.

Now, if only Spike would get back so that she could share the good news, everything would be perfect.

* * *

Time seemed to stand still as Spike stared down at Willow’s unmoving body. He’d actually started getting into the mindset that nothing could touch the witch; so many times over the past few months, she’d proven herself nearly invincible with the magic that lashed out at the slightest provocation. But this time, she hadn’t had time to react. She hadn’t been watching her back. This time, she was dead.

He started moving even before he heard Oz’s scream of denial behind him. Leaping over the railing of the balcony upon which they stood, Spike vamped out in a vicious snarl before his boots hit the floor below, grabbing the first soldier that dared to approach and twisting his neck in a satisfying crunch. Xander’s panicked questions about what was going on seemed to ring in his ears, and Spike whipped around to look up to where Oz seemed ready to jump down as well.

“Get him out of here!” Spike bellowed, jabbing toward Xander.

“I’m not leaving her!”

“There is nothing they can do.”

The sound of Havi’s voice only served to infuriate Spike further, and he wrenched away from the spectacle on the balcony to see her crouching over Willow’s prone body.

“You were supposed to protect her!” he shouted. “So much for doin’ your bloody job!”

“There might still be hope.” Reaching behind her head, Havi pulled at the uppermost studs in her neck until they came off in her hands, a small silver ball in one and a long silver bar in the other.

A volley of new gunfire had Spike lunging to throw himself over the two women, though he knew it was pointless in the case of one of them. Bullets tore into his back, and he growled against the pain, the scent of Willow’s freshly spilled blood making his mouth water and his demon roar.

“Get Xander out of here in safety and I will do what I can to save her,” Havi said.

“You can’t save her if she’s already dead.”

Inexplicable tears stung at Spike’s eyes, but he refused to acknowledge them as another wave of soldiers attacked. The carnage was quick and brutal, his grief fuelling him to violence he hadn’t experienced since coming back to Sunnydale, and it was only when there was a brief respite in the fighting that he saw Oz poised on the balcony with the crossbow and an empty quiver.

Havi was still bent over Willow, her long fingers spreading some kind of oil across the witch’s cheeks. The same oil leaked from the end of the bar she’d pulled out of her neck.

“What’re you doin’?” Spike demanded. “Let’s get out of here.”

“That’s exactly what I’m trying to accomplish,” she muttered. She finally looked up, one arm beneath Willow’s shoulders cradling her close, and the gravity in Havi’s face made Spike hesitate where he’d been about to approach again. “Get Xander out of here,” she repeated. “And tell Oz…I will do everything I can.”

Before Spike could react, Havi plunged the sharp end of the silver bar into Willow’s heart like a miniature dagger. A brilliant light exploded from where they were, knocking him back away from the overturned cart, and by the time he’d blinked to see what had just happened, both women were gone.

* * *

He had no idea what was going on. Spike had been shouting, and then Oz had started shouting as well, and what kept getting shouted couldn’t help but lead Xander to believe that something had happened to Willow. Something bad. Something unthinkable. So when Oz broke free and disappeared into the black ether, Xander went stumbling after him, desperate to find out what was messing with everybody. If his best friend had gone firestarter again, he wanted to know.

“What’s happening? What’s going on?” He kept asking the questions, over and over again, in every permutation he could think of hoping that one of them would get Oz’s attention. He couldn’t even find the other man. There was the smell of blood and the sounds of fighting and Xander was beginning to think that things might’ve been much better off if this had been one time when he hadn’t been rescued. The fact that he couldn’t hear Havi and Willow at all when they’d specifically come back to get them was worrying him to the point where he didn’t care if he was blind man walking, he was going to just start swinging punches and hope that he connected with _something_.

“Willow!”

Oz’s shout was both panicked and desperate, somewhere off to Xander’s left. He honed in on it immediately, rushing forward until a steel bar jammed into his hip. A strong grip curled around his upper arm to keep him from toppling over.

“Get back, Xander,” Oz warned.

“Not until somebody tells me what’s going on,” he said. “This is one of those times where those annoying blow-by-blow commentaries would be greatly appreciated.”

A flurry of rustling leather whistled by his ear, and a much stronger hold grabbed his other arm. “If we don’t want to end up the same way as Red,” Spike said, already dragging Xander backwards, “now is the perfect time to run.”

Oz seemed determined to do his best wishbone impression on Xander. “We can’t just leave her here,” he argued.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, the birds have flown the coop,” Spike shot back. He yanked at Xander so hard that he pulled him free, wrenching Xander’s arm so that pain lanced through his back. “There’s nothin’ we can do here. Studs…”

But he didn’t finish the sentence, choosing instead to start running away from the fray. Oz’s footsteps took a second to echo after them.

Xander didn’t have the breath to say anything again until he was being shoved up some kind of ladder, Spike insistently pressing him from behind. Even then, the opportunity was lost when hands appeared from above and grabbed his arms, pulling him out of wherever they’d been and into the cool echo of a much larger space.

“Where are the girls?”

That was Graham. Xander’s heart leapt into his throat. The soldier had actually kept his word.

“Not comin’,” was Spike’s terse reply.

“Will somebody please tell me what the hell happened back there?” Xander exclaimed.

“We got ambushed, remember?” There was the sound of a body hitting a wall, and Spike’s snarl made it all too clear who was doing the slamming. “Care to share why that might be, soldier boy?”

“What are you talking about?” Graham gasped. Xander realized the vampire must be holding him by the throat.

“I don’t think it was his fault,” Oz said. “They were looking for him, too, Spike, and I don’t think it was for an official commendation.”

Silence. Then, a body hit the floor.

“Someone sold you out,” Spike said. “I suggest you run like hell or your little buddies will be makin’ you their next experiment.” He chuckled, but the sound of it made Xander’s blood run cold. “On second thought, stay right there. Serve you right, I think.”

“He helped get me out of there by going to you guys,” Xander interceded. “If they’re after him, we’re not just going to leave him behind.”

Spike was suddenly standing in front of him, so close that Xander could smell the smoke that lingered on his coat.

“Don’t think you’d be so quick about that peace offering if you knew what happened down there,” he said. “Red’s dead, Harris. And your little girlfriend is gone. Thanks to that little ambush, we get to be the lucky ones to tell Buffy that her best friend got killed while on our watch.”

The vamp’s voice was laced with bitterness, but the pain at Willow’s loss couldn’t be missed, either. But beyond what he said about Willow---something Xander was already suspecting anyway---his phrasing about Havi led to even bigger questions.

“Gone? What do you mean gone?”

“I mean vanished. Poof. Up in the proverbial smoke. She said to get you out of there and that she’d do what she could for Red.”

“Wait a minute,” Oz said. “You didn’t say that before.”

“Because we’ve just had all the time in the world to be sharing notes, right?” Spike snorted in disgust. “Start bein’ smart, Oz.”

“Oh, like you’d be a beacon for rationality if that was Buffy we’d just left behind.”

“Can’t very well leave anybody behind if they’re not bloody there!”

“Enough!” Graham’s voice rang out. “Can we argue about who would mourn more once we’re away from this place? Just because you’re up here doesn’t mean they’re stopping their chase.”

That seemed to be all it took for Spike to start moving again, his hand tight on Xander’s arm. Nobody said a word until they were all piled into Oz’s van, and it was a tense couple of minutes as the vehicle sped away.

Spike sat next to Xander in the back, slumped against the wall. After the vamp’s earlier outburst, Xander wasn’t so sure he wanted to bring up the subject of Willow again, but considering he still knew next to nothing, he didn’t think he had a choice.

“Will you tell me at least what happened back there?” he asked, keeping his voice low.

He heard Spike sigh, felt him move as he reached for something between them. The flick of his lighter was followed by the distinct smell of sulfur and cigarettes, and Xander had to bite back the retort about secondhand smoke killing. It would only make matters worse.

“She got shot in the back,” Spike finally said. “Sniper took her out, too fast for her to see or me to stop. Only good thing is I don’t think she suffered. Happened too quick for that.”

Tears dampened Xander’s eyes, making his lashes stick together behind his bandages. “What about Havi? You said…she vanished? How?”

“Looked like magic to me, what with the blinding light and all. One second she’s there, smearing some oil shit on Willow, and the next…”

Spike’s voice started to break, and he covered it up by taking a long drag on his cigarette. Xander decided that he didn’t care about the smoke any more. He felt so bad that death would be a welcome change.

“This is all my fault,” he murmured. “If I hadn’t…” His head dropped to his hands. “God, what have I done?”

The fact that nobody tried to reassure him that he was wrong about the blame only depressed Xander further. What made it even worse was that he’d been so harsh with Havi, questioning her loyalty, only to have her turn around and demand Spike ensure Xander’s safety so that she could do what she could to help Willow. He was glad that his bandages hid his crying from the others.

The van lurched to a stop, breaking him from his dead end thoughts. “Where are we?” he asked.

“Hospital.” Spike rose from his seat, grabbing something from around their feet. Xander assumed it was his blanket. “Promised Buffy I’d be back after we got you sorted.”

“Wait! Why is Buffy…” The van door slammed behind the exiting vampire. “…in the hospital?”

With Spike gone, he expected Oz to reply instead. It didn’t happen. The van just started moving again, and Xander silently berated himself. He wasn’t the only one grieving here.

“Where are we going to now?” he asked, switching tactics.

“Giles’.”

The single word reply was the last warning Xander needed to keep his mouth shut. He didn’t say another word until they were safely ensconced in the Watcher’s apartment.

* * *

Wesley sat and listened in shocked disbelief as Oz related the story of what had happened during Xander’s rescue. Willow…dead? What was worse was the timing of it. As soon as Rupert finished his tirade, Wesley was going to have no choice but to bring up the coincidence of his earlier call from Lydia.

“What on earth were you thinking?” Giles ranted. “It was both incredibly foolish and irresponsible for you to go in there without thought for the repercussions. How could you think you could trust _him_?” He gestured toward where Graham hung back in the corner. “And now Willow has paid the price for that arrogance.”

Oz wasn’t speaking. The young man had barely said a word since their arrival, his eyes dark and luminous as he just watched Rupert lecture.

“They couldn’t have stopped her,” Xander said. “You know how Willow has been getting lately. She thought she was Supergirl now.”

Suddenly, Giles sank wearily into his favorite chair, removing his glasses to rub at his eyes. “Buffy is going to be devastated,” he said. “Things are already difficult enough with the baby, and now this…”

“Spike will do what he can to lessen the blow,” Oz said, finally breaking his silence.

“And maybe Havi will come through,” Xander offered. “She wouldn’t have just disappeared with Willow without having a really good reason, right?”

It was clear nobody wanted to consider the far-reaching possibilities, but Wesley knew better than to say anything about it. He also decided against mentioning the coincidental timing of Willow’s death with Esme’s collapse back at the house. Lydia had been quite upset about finding the witch unconscious, and while Wesley’s initial response had been that the occurrence was merely because of the witch’s age, he was now beginning to have doubts. It was just too fortuitous.

But that was a consideration for later. Now, they mourned.

* * *

Maggie listened to the reports with her usual stoic composure, but the moment the soldiers left her office, her shoulders slumped. Though there had always been the faintest of doubts since his abduction, she’d never truly believed that Graham could betray her. He was too much a part of the team. She’d handpicked him personally both for his skills and for his loyalty. Next to Riley, he had been one of her favorites.

If it wasn’t for Robin’s call, she would never have known about his duplicity. Even then, she’d hoped that it was merely coincidence, but when the entourage arrived for young Harris’ rescue, there had been no more room for doubt. You didn’t send a vampire, a witch, and a werewolf to do your business if you weren’t working for the other side.

Beyond her disappointment in his betrayal, however, there was fear that he would expose their operations. Granted, he’d been nothing but the model soldier since his unfortunate kidnapping in September, but obviously, he’d changed his mind about which side would have his allegiance. Now, the Slayer would know about what they were trying to accomplish with the Initiative. The only thing that gave Maggie any relief was that Graham knew nothing about her private interest in the Slayer artifacts. That was one secret that would remain hers until the time was right.

In the meantime, she would have to do what she could to get Graham back into custody. It would require more covert methodology, but she was an expert at that. She just had to be patient.

* * *

The oil burned where it touched Havi’s skin, but she ignored the pain as she lifted Willow’s body onto the edge of the well. The water was already rippling, the light an iridescent glow in anticipation of her arrival. The echoes of the magic pounded inside her skull, making it difficult to concentrate, but she bowed forward anyway, pressing her forehead to the headstone of the well as she waited.

“This is unexpected,” the Guardian’s voice murmured.

She didn’t move. She had to wait. She knew the protocols and if she wished for Willow to have any chance at all, she had to follow them.

“You have failed,” the voice said. “Why do you seek us out?”

“I did not fail,” Havi argued. “I stood by her side. I fought with her until…” Finishing that sentence was going to be very bad for her case.

“Until she died, you mean.” They didn’t care for the niceties. “This is the second charge to die under your protection, Child of Life. You disappoint us.”

“Rose’s death was ordained. There was nothing I could do to prevent it.”

“Willow’s was not. This was not how it was supposed to be.”

“And you don’t think I know that?” She sat up, suddenly not caring about the so-called protocols. Her eyes burned from her unshed tears. “We were only there because Xander fled in the face of my dishonesty with him. There would’ve been no need for a rescue if I’d been upfront with him from the start. I am more than aware of my blame in this.”

“And yet, you come to us anyway.”

“Yes. I have no other choice.”

Silence filled the cavern, the only sounds in the echoing space the gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the well. Willow’s skin seemed ashen in the odd lighting, but Havi was doing everything in her power not to look at her. She had to be strong about this, and seeing the object of her failure would only break her.

“Coming to us in such a manner is for times of crisis only,” the voice said. “You know this.”

“Isn’t Willow’s death crisis enough?” she shot back.

“Her _dying_ would be. But she is already gone. What would you have us do?”

Havi took a deep breath. “Bring her back.”

“That is not how things are done. You know this.”

Anger flared at the indifference she heard in their tone. “I _know_ she should not be dead!” Havi said. “And I _know_ you have the power to reverse this, should you choose. You wanted her so badly to be one of you. Why aren’t you fighting to keep her?”

“The power she wielded is no longer hers to control.”

“She was _more_ than her magic!” She rose to her feet, desperate for any advantage she might have, even if it was only in her head. “She would’ve given the Guardians more than the ability to cast a spell. She would’ve given you compassion. Diligence. She would’ve brought back innocence without falling to ignorance. But she can’t do that if she’s dead.”

“It’s all part of the natural cycle, child. Even if this is not how we would’ve planned---.”

“There is nothing natural about being shot in the back!” Havi spat.

The voice sighed. The air within the cavern felt heavier. “Even if we were to choose to help,” it said, “we would not be able to do so. Balance must be kept. A life cannot be returned without another being taken.”

They were no longer saying no. The hope that they were offering was slim, but Havi grasped it with everything she had. “So…if someone else was to die, you would do what is necessary to bring Willow back?” she asked.

“That is the way,” came the reply.

Her mind raced. It was impossible to consider returning to Sunnydale without Willow at her side. She couldn’t come this close and fail. She just couldn’t.

That left only a single option.

Havi knelt again before the well, bowing her head in supplication. “There are no words to express just how ashamed I am that I have failed so,” she said. “So I offer the only penitence I can. Take my life for Willow’s.”


	47. The Long-Lived Phoenix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XIX.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Willow’s death meant Esme got her magic back and then fell unconscious while the shadow disappeared from Buffy’s ultrasound, Havi teleported Willow’s dead body out of the Initiative to the Well of the Guardians and offered to trade her life for Willow’s, and the rest of the gang has managed to escape, dropping Spike off at the hospital before going to Giles’…

Spike didn’t realize just how bad he looked until two different nurses accosted him on his way to Buffy’s room, trying to get him to go to the emergency room so that his injuries could be tended. A well-placed snarl was all it took to get them to disengage, but their reactions made him hesitant to just barge in on Buffy. He didn’t want to scare her more than she already was. He veered toward the waiting room instead, throwing his blanket over his shoulders to hide the bullet holes in his back, in hopes of getting another opinion on just how bad his appearance was.

Joyce rose to her feet as soon as he entered, but the smile that appeared at the sight of him vanished when her gaze swept over his form.

“What happened?” she asked once she was at his side. She kept her voice low, her head tilted toward him to keep their conversation private from the other inhabitants of the waiting room.

Spike shook his head. “Just a bit of a scrap. Nothin’ to fuss over.” That answered his question, though. He’d have to clean up before going in to see Buffy.

Joyce seemed reluctant to accept his non-explanation, but the look on his face must’ve been enough for her to realize she shouldn’t press. “You got here just in time,” she said. “They’re discharging Buffy early. We can go home as soon as they finish her paperwork.”

At least one thing was going right today. “No more pains then?” he asked.

“Not a one. And the shadow is completely gone as well. They took that as a good omen that everything is going to be all right.”

Spike’s chest tightened, and he lifted bleak eyes to search Joyce’s. “What was that? You said…how do they know the shadow’s gone?”

“They did an ultrasound while you were out. Whatever was showing up yesterday isn’t there any more. The baby’s alive and kicking just as clear as day.”

He didn’t hear the good news about the little one.

What Spike heard was that all evidence of Willow’s magic was completely gone from Buffy’s scans.

Just like Willow was now gone from their lives.

That knowledge shattered the last of his resolve to be strong in the face of what had happened with Xander’s rescue. Tears sprang to his eyes, and his shoulders slumped as the sobs started to wrack his chest. Joyce’s warm arms were around him before he could stop her, but the comfort she offered only seemed to intensify his grief, his cries muffled as he clung to her.

“It’s OK,” she soothed. “I know it’s been stressful, but Buffy’s going to be OK.”

The fact that she didn’t even know _why_ he was crying made it worse.

Suddenly, Joyce stiffened, pulling back as her hand came away from her embrace. Blood stained her fingers, and her face was pale when she looked at him. “This doesn’t look like something I shouldn’t fuss over,” she said.

The other visitors had started to stare at them in curiosity, prompting Joyce to take Spike’s arm and lead him into the hall. He kept his head lowered, hiding his face from those that passed, but when she pushed open the door to the hospital chapel, he saw the sign on the door and balked.

“We’ll have privacy in here,” Joyce said.

He didn’t have the strength to argue and followed her to the rear pews, turning when she guided him around. The sharp intake of her breath made his head drop, and Spike closed his eyes as he felt her fingers probe the various holes in his back.

“This isn’t about Buffy, is it?” she asked quietly.

He shook his head. His lashes were starting to stick together from his drying tears. “Red’s dead,” he murmured. “We ran into the wrong end of an ambush, tryin’ to get Harris back. Sniper took her out before her magic could come to the rescue.”

“Oh, Spike…” Her hands were warm against his neck as she tugged at the collar of his coat, forcing him to take it off so that she could get a better look at his injuries. “It looks like you were acting as a human shield. Did anybody else get shot?”

“Not that I know of. It was too late for Red, though.” Craning his neck, he tried to peer over his shoulder and see the extent of the damage. “Doesn’t feel like it’s bleeding too much any more. If I cover it up, Buffy won’t be the wiser.”

“You’re not honestly considering keeping this from her, are you?”

The incredulity in her voice made Spike lift his eyes to meet hers. “She’s goin’ to be broken up enough about Red,” he said. “I don’t need---.”

“You know…” Suddenly, all her sympathy seemed to be gone, and her eyes flashed with something that made Spike take a step backward. “This second-guessing you and Buffy keep doing, trying to tiptoe around the other’s feelings, has to stop. Here and now. I know you’re upset about Willow, and I know you think you need to do what you can to keep Buffy from getting hurt, but relationships don’t work that way. Well, Buffy’s relationships don’t. She hates being coddled, and if you keep doing it, you’re going to lose her. Take it from somebody who knows.”

“The baby---.”

“---will be fine,” Joyce finished. “Buffy’s strong, and with this latest threat gone, she’s got nothing to worry about. But when she finds out about Willow, the two of you are going to need to be there for each other, two hundred percent.”

Spike sagged onto the pew, burying his head in his hands. “She’s goin’ to hate me,” he muttered.

“She’s not going to hate you.”

He didn’t look up when Joyce sat next to him. “She doesn’t know what we did. She’s goin’ to blame me for lettin’ Red get hurt.”

The tears were free-flowing again, but this time it was fear for Buffy’s reaction as much as it was the fact that Willow was gone. Though he didn’t want to admit it, Joyce had a point. He had to come clean. He’d known he had to before she’d come to the hospital, but adding this onto the having to confess what had happened to her best friend was more than Spike was prepared to shoulder. The temptation to flee was tremendous, and if it wasn’t for the fact that it would hurt more the longer he drew it out, he likely would’ve bolted from the chapel that very instant.

He didn’t, though. He just cried until he couldn’t cry any more. He had to have that out of his system before he faced Buffy.

* * *

Joyce insisted on cleaning the worst of Spike’s injuries before he went to Buffy’s room, dragging him into a supply closet to bandage over the holes.

“We’ll go see Rupert when Buffy gets discharged,” she said. “He should be able to take care of you without you needing to see a doctor.”

He couldn’t hide the holes in his coat, though. He was going to have to explain those before Buffy could call him on them.

She wasn’t in the room when he pushed the door open, and for a moment, he thought he might’ve already missed her. Then, the toilet flushed in the adjoining bathroom, and she emerged, already changed back into her street clothes.

“Did Mom tell you?” she said, her smile brilliant as she rushed up and threw her arms around his neck. “God, you have no idea how relieved I was. I just wish…”

Though he’d automatically returned her embrace, Spike couldn’t stop her quick discovery of the state of his coat, and he didn’t attempt to prevent her from pulling away when her voice trailed off. Her eyes were dark when they met his, searching for some kind of an explanation, but he just took her by the elbows and guided her over to the bed.

“Something’s happened,” he said.

Taking her hands in his, he gave her the abridged version of what had happened in Xander’s rescue, watching her grow increasingly pale as the story progressed. When he reached the part about Willow’s collapse, her lips parted, her breath hitching as if she was going to speak, but nothing came out. She just continued to listen as he detailed how Havi had disappeared with the body.

“Then, maybe she’s not dead,” Buffy said. “Maybe Havi’s got some secret weapon with the Guardians to help protect her.”

“I don’t think so, pet.” His hand was shaking as he reached up to brush back a strand of hair from her cheek. “If Red was still alive, her magic wouldn’t be on the blink. And your mum told me that your scan came up clean this time.”

“What does…” But the question faded as her brain made the connection. “That was Willow?” she whispered. “What did she do?”

“It was just a protection spell,” he said dismissively, hoping that treating the subject so would make it seem far less important than it actually was. “It wasn’t ever meant---.”

“You knew?”

There was no denying the hurt accusation in her eyes, but she was already speaking before he’d finished nodding.

“You knew all along,” she said. “You knew, and you didn’t tell me? I thought…I asked you _how_ many times, and you never even hinted that…”

“Buffy---.”

The pieces were falling into place too quickly for him to interrupt though, and he could only watch as she tore away and began pacing the length of the room.

“We were supposed to be partners!” she exclaimed. “You promised, and…I can’t believe you let her do that to Schmoo, after all your words about keeping the baby safe. God, I can’t believe you made me think something was seriously wrong. That shadow…”

It was the final puzzle piece slipping effortlessly into place that made her stop. Her hands had been fluttering as she moved, but now, they came to rest on the swell of her stomach, her eyes widening as the rest of the color drained from her face.

“It’s gone,” she whispered. “There wasn’t anything there. That means…Oh my god, Willow…”

He caught her before she crumpled, pulling her into his chest before they sank to the floor together. Her rattled sobs made both of them shake, drawing Spike’s tears back to the fore, but he murmured every word of apology and every wish of condolence he could muster. It was hard to celebrate the life that bound them together when another’s brilliance had been extinguished. Spike was just relieved that Buffy allowed him to share her grief. He was going to be grateful for anything she threw his way until she’d forgiven him for his involvement in Willow’s spell. She and the little one were all that mattered any more.

* * *

Wesley waited until Oz and Xander had left to take the latter home before cornering Giles in the kitchen.

“I know this isn’t the best time,” he said quietly, “but I fear that Willow’s death might have further reaching consequences than you realize.”

Giles didn’t move away from where he fussed over the kettle. For some reason, he was remarkably insistent about making a pot of tea. He was using the excuse that he needed to offer something to Graham, who had stayed behind, but Wesley knew that it was more likely to keep from thinking too closely about what had happened.

“Oh?” His casual comment could’ve been a response to the state of the weather.

Wesley angled his body so that Giles had no choice but to look at him. “Lydia’s call earlier?” he prompted.

“What of it? I thought you said…” Understanding made Giles hesitate, and he glanced away from the teabags in his hand. “You don’t truly believe that Esme’s collapse has anything to do with Willow?” he said.

“The timing is suspicious, don’t you think?”

“Esme’s powerless. It’s ludicrous to assume she had anything to do with what happened.”

“I’m not. I’m assuming she might be involved in the aftereffects.”

Shaking his head, Giles returned to making his tea. “She’s old. Nothing has happened that can’t be attributed to her age.”

“Except the timing of it.” He followed the other Watcher into the other room, ignoring Graham hovering in the corner. This was no longer the time for discretion. “Willow’s magic often acted of its own volition. Protecting its vessel. Taking control. Yes, she was gaining some mastery over it, but in the end, it was still almost a separate entity. What if…what if Willow’s death forced it to seek out safety? What if it decided to return to Esme?”

Clearly, the possibility hadn’t occurred to Giles, and he visibly paled. “That’s a…rather large leap of logic,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Didn’t Willow’s original spell act almost the same way?” Wesley pressed. “In your reports of what happened in London last summer. Didn’t you say that when she broke the rod that contained Esme’s magic, it returned the magic to its source?

“Eventually. But that was a different spell. Rose was the one who transferred the magic from Esme to Willow, and we never learned just how she changed the spell to get it to work as she did.”

“But the possibility exists. And Willow fell unconscious after receiving the power, just like Esme has now. The similarities are too many to ignore, Rupert.”

He wasn’t sure if the fact that Giles had no immediate response was because he believed Wesley or that he thought his theories rubbish. Graham took the tea Giles offered, but the way the young man’s inscrutable gaze met Wes’ left him uneasy.

“What are you suggesting then?” Giles said. “We couldn’t control Esme when she was at full strength. If you’re right, we’re going to be in the same dire straits when she wakes again.”

“We need to confer with the others,” Wesley said. “Perhaps we can---.”

“You need to kill her.”

Both Englishmen swiveled their heads to stare at Graham in disbelief. “I don’t remember asking for your opinion,” Giles said coldly.

Graham shrugged. “You’re the ones talking in front of me. I’m just saying what you two are obviously too scared to.”

“We don’t murder people.”

“No, you just kidnap them.”

Giles took a menacing step closer, but Graham didn’t flinch. “I still have my chains,” he warned.

Wesley was disappointed when the young man didn’t reply. Graham had been right. That had been exactly the conclusion to which he’d been hoping to lead Giles. It was the only possibility he could see that would solve the potential issue of a rogue witch nobody could control.

“We’ll talk to Buffy,” Giles said, turning away from his confrontation. “She often comes to rather unorthodox solutions. I’m sure she’ll have some ideas.”

Wesley nodded, though his heart wasn’t in it. Somehow, he couldn’t shake the feeling that delaying action would prove detrimental in the long run. Giles was just too blinded by his grief to see it clearly.

* * *

Lydia’s hands shook as she stuffed Esme’s clothing into a suitcase. She desperately wished that she was the one being taken away and not the old woman. When Wesley discovered the extent of her involvement, she would no longer be welcome in Sunnydale, regardless of what Mr. Travers might say. It wasn’t even so much what the two Watchers would do that scared her. If Spike learned that she’d turned on him, she knew that their past history would not be enough to save her from his wrath. He was possessive of the baby; when he learned she was planning on using it against him and Buffy, he’d kill her without batting an eyelash.

But Mr. Travers had been adamant when she’d called him.

“The only doctors I trust are our own,” he’d said. “A removal team will be there within the hour.”

“What about Willow?” she’d countered.

“Esme can hardly be useful in Ms. Rosenberg’s education if she’s unconscious.”

“And Wesley? How am I supposed to explain Esme’s sudden disappearance to him?”

“The team will take the appropriate actions to ensure you’re not indicted for this.” Mr. Travers had hung up before she could argue with him further.

Esme was still unconscious, just as she had been ever since collapsing in the kitchen. Her pulse was thready, her breathing too rapid for a woman her age. Frankly, Lydia was convinced that it was related to her old age and not something grim as Mr. Travers seemed to believe.

But she was under orders, and she would follow those orders through, praying that right would win out over wrong in the end, praying even more that the side she had chosen was the right one.

* * *

The air around the well rippled from the vigorous magics that suffused the cavern, the lapping of the water almost violent where it pounded into the bodies that were submerged within the pool. Neither moved, though one still pulsed with just the faintest emanations of life. It had been that way ever since Havi had placed Willow in the well, growing increasingly vehement when she’d lain alongside her. The Guardians had work to do. That work was creating a din.

When the voice came through, it was nearly eclipsed by the other sounds, a soft whisper in the cacophony of chaos. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. The magic continued.

“You have to stop,” the voice said again.

Near the entrance, the air grew thicker, condensing into something almost tangible. Long white hair became visible first, and then the arch of a high cheekbone. Before anything more could sharpen into focus, the form started moving though it made no noise as it approached the well.

“Your presence is not required here,” the voice of the Guardians said.

The noise of the magic didn’t abate, and the form turned toward Havi’s now inert body. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,” the newcomer said. “You know this. I _told_ you this.”

“It does not matter. This is the choice the Child of Life has made.”

“Then unmake it. I did not go through everything that I did for Havi to die.”

Enough of the form had materialized for distinguishing features to now be seen. Rose Rhodes-Fanshaw glared at the well, though her anger was clearly directed at the other Guardians rather than the two young women in its waters.

“This is no longer your battle,” the voice said. “You have paid your dues. Go and rest, Rose.”

“I can’t. You’re about to make a serious mistake, and if you think I can stand by without saying anything, then you’re not nearly as attuned to right as you should be.”

The air seemed to sigh, and the movement that had been enlivening the atmosphere began to ebb. Rose remained unmoving at the well’s side.

“The Powers should not have intervened and sent you here,” the voice finally said. “We need Willow Rosenberg as one of us. Without the Child of Life’s sacrifice, this is not possible. We cannot afford to spend any more time so weak.”

“You will continue to be weak if you allow Havi to die,” Rose said. “Willow’s power requires Havi to be at her side for many years to come. Those were the visions I saw. Why are you now ignoring them?”

“We have no choice.”

“There is always choice.”

“Not when there is life in the balance. You know the rules, Rose. This is how it should be.”

Rose’s frustration made her incorporeal form flicker in the silver and lavender light. “The fight that is to come will be lost if Havi is not there to take up arms,” she said. “Already, the power has shifted. Esme has regained the use of her magic and the others grow closer to the truth every day. You would _really_ allow the Slayer’s power to fall into their hands just because of your own stubborn refusal to acknowledge other paths than your own?”

“We have no choice,” the voice repeated. “A life for a life. Havi has offered hers as it should be. Willow is her charge. It is Havi’s duty to do everything she can to save her.”

Rose’s lips pressed together, whitening impossibly in her gauzy appearance. A long minute passed where each party waited for the other to act. It stretched into two. Just as the air began to move again, Rose spoke.

“Take another life then,” she said. The magic stilled. Beads of water clung to Willow’s cheek in the pool, while something beneath Havi’s closed lids fluttered.

“There is no other.”

“You’re wrong.” She squared her shoulders. “I offer Baltozar Marroquin’s in exchange for Willow’s.”

There was a gust of wind, though Rose remained unmoving. Whispers began to swell and swirl between the walls, confused and garbled so that any passing stranger would be unable to understand them. Even the water seemed agitated, absorbing the proposal but unsure what to do with it.

“You know he’s not intended to wake up again,” Rose continued. “If it wasn’t for Havi’s intervention, he would’ve died months ago. Taking his life now will give him purpose. It will help counter the evil that’s been done.”

“Why did the Child of Life not suggest this?” the voice asked.

“Because she is too honorable. It would never occur to her to offer anything that wasn’t hers.”

“But you have no qualms about making such a proposition.”

Rose edged closer to the well. “I specifically forbade Havi to intervene when Baltozar took my life,” she said. “I knew nothing short of my death would tear her from her duty to me. As a victim of his crimes---.”

“A _willing_ victim.”

“Still, a victim. As such, our lives are entwined. His is mine to offer.”

More whispering, more confusion. The wind rose and fell as the Guardians conferred.

“Why did you not tell Havi of her role in the upcoming fight?” they asked. “You could just have come to the Hellmouth instead of taking her around Europe and Africa while the vampire chased you.”

“Because William’s role is defined as well,” Rose replied. “But it was never clear for which side he fought. I needed to test his allegiance, see just how willing he was to pursue what he desired. If he had failed, I would’ve done just as you said. But he didn’t. He proved his worth to my satisfaction. What transpired was the only way.”

A soft sigh rippled throughout the cavern as the voices died away. “It pains us that you’ve been drawn from your peace to intervene in this matter,” the voice of the Guardians said. “You were a valued friend, and due to that, your opinion matters greatly to us. As you wish…so be it.”

The sound of Havi’s sputtered coughing drew Rose’s gaze down to the well, and a small sad smile formed on her lips. “Be well,” she whispered as her form began to fade again. “And be strong…”

* * *

The electronic hum of the life support machine began to beep in shrill tones that sent the medical staff scurrying to Baltozar’s hospital room. So little had happened there that the nurses were shocked to have to respond at all. Still, they worked as efficiently as they always did, bringing over the equipment the doctor ordered and aiding as best they could.

It was over just as quickly as it had all started.

“Somebody turn that damn machine off,” the doctor grumbled, stepping away from the bed. He glanced up at the clock on the wall, comparing it with the time on his watch, as the room finally fell silent. “I’m calling it. One forty-seven. Somebody call the next of kin and let them know Mr. Marroquin has finally passed away.”


	48. Winter's Ragged Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet VI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Rose showed up at the Well to trade Baltozar’s life for Havi’s, Wesley is growing fearful of what will happen to Esme now, while Spike has confessed everything to Buffy when telling her of Willow’s death…

She called Rupert while Spike was in with Buffy. As much as Joyce wanted to be there for her daughter when she got the devastating news about her best friend, she also knew that what Spike had to say---whatever it was---was far more important than her maternal needs. It ate her up having to stay away, but it was hardly the first time she’d been forced to sit through a difficult decision for Buffy’s sake.

Rupert’s voice was rough over the line, and Joyce was horrified to think, for the first time since meeting him, that he sounded his age. More. Willow’s death was obviously affecting him just as strongly as it was the younger people. Joyce was going to have to remember to offer him a shoulder to cry on once everything was settled.

“I believe Oz mentioned that,” he said in reference to Spike’s injuries. A low murmur in the background sounded vaguely like Wesley, and there was a pause before Rupert continued to speak. “It’s probably best if I meet you at your house. I can pick up a few supplies on the way. Does Buffy need anything?”

“No, she just needs to go home, I think. I’m not sure how her hormones are going to make her react to the news, so I was wondering if you could have Oz and Xander come over as well? Maybe if they’re all together, it’ll make dealing with what happened easier.”

“I agree. I’ll ring them and make the suggestion.”

“Thank you, Rupert.”

He hung up before she could get in any words of consolation, leaving Joyce still feeling half at odds. There had to be more she could do, but she would likely have to bide her time to do so.

Buffy’s face was swollen and pale when she and Spike finally emerged from her hospital room. Without a word, she broke away from him and rushed to Joyce, throwing her arms tightly around her waist as she buried her face against Joyce’s shoulder.

“It’s OK,” Joyce soothed, automatically lifting her hands to brush over Buffy’s hair. Her eyes met Spike’s, but he lowered them to the floor before she could read them effectively. “Let’s go home.”

The SUV was silent all the way back to Revello Drive, and Joyce was relieved to see Giles’ Citroen parked on the street when she pulled into the drive. He was out of the car before she could turn off the engine, opening Buffy’s door and helping her from the front seat.

“You know,” she said to him softly.

It hurt Joyce to hear her daughter sound so small.

Rupert nodded. “I tried to reach Oz and Xander to have them here as well,” he said. “But neither of them has returned home yet.”

“Spike said…Xander was hurt?”

“Temporarily blinded, we were told. Xander said he’d been treated, but the effects hadn’t taken hold yet.”

“They’re probably still together, then,” Buffy said. “They’re not going to want to be alone. Not with…”

Her eyes ducked as her voice faded away.

The discreet clearing of Spike’s throat from the back of the SUV got Joyce into action. “I feel like a cup of tea,” she announced, going around the front of the car. She smiled when Giles looked up at her gratefully. “Buffy? Why don’t you come and help me while Rupert takes care of Spike.”

She put her arm around Buffy’s shoulder as they went inside the house. The silence continued, even after Joyce heard Giles and Spike’s murmuring come from the living room, even while they set about making the tea she had promised. Buffy was lost wherever it was her thoughts had taken her, sitting perched on the stool at the island, eyes dry and hollow as they gazed at nothing. It took all of Joyce’s willpower not to intrude.

Spike was the first to come into the kitchen. He was stripped to the waist, his bloodied t-shirt dangling from his fingers. Bruises mottled his pale skin, but they were inconsequential to the shadows haunting his eyes. He took the mug of warmed blood Buffy handed to him and tried to smile, but the effort seemed to exhaust both of them.

“We need to talk,” Buffy said quietly.

Rupert entered just as Spike was nodding in agreement. He hung back as the pair headed toward the basement, the door whispering closed behind them, and only ventured further once the footsteps descending the stairs fell silent.

“Thank you,” he murmured when Joyce pushed his waiting teacup closer.

“How are you going to explain this to Willow’s parents?” she asked.

When he shook his head, it looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. “I have no idea. I can’t even wrap my mind around the fact that she’s gone. I always assumed Buffy---.”

He stopped, and the guilty glance he shot in Joyce’s direction finished the sentence for him.

“It’s all right,” she said. “Ever since I found out about Buffy being the Slayer, I’ve had those kinds of nightmares on a regular basis. Considering what she does, it makes sense to think she’d be the one to get killed.”

Giles sipped at his tea, eyes downcast behind his spectacles. “I never envisioned this,” he confessed. “We’re trained to guide our Slayers, and we’re warned of attachments. We enter the relationship already knowing of its demise. Maybe not the when, but most definitely the how. And sometimes, that makes it easier. This, with Willow, though…more than anyone else, she was a constant. A bright-eyed, bushy-tailed reminder of just why I chose to become a Watcher in the first place. Not because she was the girl Buffy needed to save, but because…”

He stopped again, as if the words became too difficult to vocalize. Joyce did nothing but wait, leaning against the edge of the counter with her steaming cup cradled between her hands, waiting for him to find the ease he needed.

“She would’ve been brilliant,” he finally said, and then chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, hell, she already was. But she could’ve been magnificent with the proper guidance. In time…I’m sure she had the potential to surpass us all. She was still a child in so many senses of the word. She shouldn’t have…”

Joyce heard the thickening of his speech before his voice finally broke, setting her cup down and reaching forward to place her hand over his where it rested on the counter. He stiffened at her initial touch, his gaze shooting upwards to stare at her in confusion. Unshed tears made his eyes gleam too brightly, but behind the blue, she saw the relief that he’d been afraid to voice, the need for contact when something treasured has been ripped away.

Neither said a word. There was nothing more either could offer.

* * *

Oz was glad that Xander hadn’t spoken since they’d left Giles’. It made it easier to concentrate. Without the reminder of who it was sitting next to him, he could focus on the task at hand. Or nose, as the case may be.

It wasn’t a complex plan. In fact, it had pretty much stemmed from the overwhelming desire to put as much distance between himself and Graham as physically possible. Standing in Giles’ living room and seeing the representation of what had dragged them down beneath Sunnydale was too much for him to handle. Having Xander at his side didn’t count. He was a pawn in a much bigger game. And Oz knew that he would’ve traded places with Willow in a heartbeat if the choice had come to that.

So, driving through the streets of Sunnydale with the excuse of taking Xander home had been his own personal form of therapy. Away from the need to do something violent. Away from the temptation to say to hell with everything good that Willow had ever shown him and letting his more primal instincts take over. Driving was soothing, numbing in more than an ass-tingly kind of way. Right now, he was welcoming the numb.

It was when they’d turned the corner near the Factory that the thought occurred to Oz. Scents from the street drifted in through his open window, and he was struck with the sudden wish to smell Willow’s hair. His hands had tightened around the wheel, his knuckles going white. It was a good thing Xander couldn’t have seen him or he probably would’ve been a little freaked out.

But without a body, there would be no smelling of Willow. There would be no more seeing. No more touching. No more anything. He wondered where Havi had taken her, and then realized that if it wasn’t that far, he could find them on his own. He knew Willow better than he knew himself, or at least, he liked to pretend that he did. It made forgetting about the past less painful.

He was about to give up and just take Xander home when he caught a whiff of something familiar. It wasn’t Willow; he would’ve recognized her without hesitation. But something about it nagged, like he should know it if he only concentrated.

Slowing the van, Oz turned his head more to the side, breathing in the outside air in long, slow swallows. He caught Xander’s quizzical turn of his head out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t say anything, choosing instead to pull up alongside the road and kill the engine. Here, just beyond the city’s limits, the air was cleaner, less tainted by the Hellmouth’s undercurrents of oil and blood. Here, he could focus on just what it was that had compelled him to stop.

“If you’ve got a flat tire,” Xander joked, “I’m afraid you’re all on your own in changing it.”

“No. It’s…” Pushing open the door, Oz stepped out into the afternoon sun, already beginning to grow dim on the horizon.

Not finishing the sentence right away prompted Xander to speak up. “Does this have something to do with the fact that it’s taking us nearly three times as long as it should to get to my house?” he asked.

Oz’s eyes scanned the nearby brush. It looked like it always did, dry and desperate for nutrient as it stretched off into nothing. But the scent was stronger here, and it was mingling with something that made his cock twitch.

He recognized it then. His entire body stiffened.

“Xander?”

“Yeah?”

“Reach under the front seat. I’ll be right back.”

Loose grit crunched beneath his shoes as he started to head toward the scents. From the car behind him, he heard Xander’s muffled curse as he did as he’d been instructed.

“Wait…Oz? This _is_ a stake in my hand, right? Please tell me you’re not leaving me alone in the dark. Blind man sitting, remember? I’ll end up stabbing through the vampire’s kneecaps if something happens.”

“It’s still daylight,” he called back. “That’s just to make you feel safe until I get back.”

“How long are you going to be gone?”

But Oz was too far away at that point to respond. His path veered left, then right, as he followed the scents. He didn’t think they had actually come this way---the smells weren’t strong enough for that---but they were definitely here. That was all that mattered.

He saw Willow first, and his heart sped up at the sight of her red hair nearly hidden by the bush she was next to. Breaking into a run, Oz closed the distance to where she lay crumpled on the earth, almost not noticing Havi’s unconscious form nearly on top of her. He fell to his knees when he got to her side, pulling her up and against him without thinking, burying his nose in her dusty hair and inhaling until his lungs hurt.

This was what he’d wanted back in the fight. To be able to hold her, say good bye, anything more than what he’d been given. He knew Spike had had a point about leaving, but a part of him hated the vampire for making him go. If it had been Buffy---.

That was when he felt it. A soft rustling across his ear. Tickling, almost.

It could’ve been the wind.

It wasn’t.

With his throat suddenly so tight he couldn’t breathe, Oz loosened his hold so that Willow slipped away from his chest, her head falling back over his arm so that her neck seemed impossibly long. It looked so fragile, but as he watched, a tiny fluttering near the juncture of her shoulder seemed to eclipse the pounding of his own.

“Willow?” It was a whisper, like he didn’t dare speak her name any louder should he be wrong. His hand was trembling as he reached up and touched her face, then trailed down to hover over her neck until he found the courage to press down, just lightly enough to determine whether or not he’d imagined the faint pulse.

He hadn’t. It was there. Soft and thready, but there.

His eyes stung as he scooped her against him. Heedless of her weight, Oz stumbled to his feet, lurching sideways until he found his balance. The distance back to the van seemed like nothing compared to how long he’d thought he’d been walking, and he was calling out Xander’s name long before he reached the door.

“Open the back, open the back,” he said when Xander felt his way around the front of the van.

Without hesitating, Xander continued along the vehicle’s side, faltering only slightly when he reached the back doors and yanked them open. “What is it?” he asked, stepping out of the way.

“Willow.” Oz laid her down along the carpeted interior, pushing her hair out of her eyes though they were still closed. “It’s Willow.”

His best friend’s name seemed to charge Xander, and his head jerked around as if he was looking around him. “Is that what we’ve been doing?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t know.” Kneeling next to her, Oz leaned over until their foreheads were almost touching. “C’mon, Willow,” he murmured. “I know you’re in there.”

Xander suddenly froze. “Look, Oz, man, I know you’re just as upset about what happened as I am, but---.”

“She’s alive. Spike and Havi were wrong, Xander. Willow’s still alive.”

The announcement leeched all the color from his face, and his mouth worked silently as he struggled to find words. “How? Did Havi…?” And then, more vehemently, “ _Where’s_ Havi?”

The question reminded Oz of the other young woman lying unconscious out in the brush, and reluctantly, he tore away from Willow to clamber back out of the van. “She was with Willow,” he said.

He’d only taken a few steps when Xander’s hand clapped onto his shoulder, pulling him to a halt. Oz turned just in time to see Xander clawing at the bandages over his eyes, exposing his reddened corneas and blistered skin.

“Can you see anything?” he asked.

Xander squinted. “In the words of the great Han Solo, instead of a big dark blur, I see a big light blur. Now, _please_ tell me I’m not standing on the edge of a gigantic hole with a snaggle-toothed monster about to eat me.”

“If you can’t---.”

“Don’t say it. I’m coming with you.”

With Xander’s hand clamped firmly on his shoulder, Oz led him back across the terrain, carefully sidestepping obstacles that might trip his friend up. “Here,” he said when they reached Havi. He took Xander’s hand and guided it down to her body. “She’s unconscious. We’re going to have to carry her back to the van, too.”

“But she’s alive, right?” Xander’s fingers were flying over her face like a blind man’s, then slid around to the back of her neck. “Wait. She’s missing one of her piercings. No. Two of them.”

“She used those to do whatever magic she needed to get her and Willow out of the fight,” Oz explained.

If it had been the movies, Havi would’ve woken up at that point to see Xander crouching over her, and he would’ve miraculously regained his sight in time to see her looking up at him. Violins would’ve swelled in the background, and everybody would’ve had their happy ending.

But this wasn’t pretend. Havi didn’t react as they lifted her up, and she didn’t make a sound as Oz led Xander back to the van. She was just as out of it when she was finally laid next to Willow as she had been out on the desert.

“Are they hurt?” Xander asked. “Do we need to take them to the hospital?”

Oz slammed the doors shut. “And tell the doctors what?”

“Good point. Giles’, then?”

“Giles’.”

* * *

She could see that Spike was itching for a cigarette. He kept brushing his fingertips over his scraped knuckles, his head bowed and gaze firmly on the floor. But Buffy had to give him credit for one thing. At her request, he didn’t utter a word while she said her piece. He didn’t even look up when she was done.

“You think I don’t know I buggered this whole thing up?” His voice was husky, rough from tears both shed and not. His mien now fell into the latter category, though. “It went all to cock because of me. I should’ve talked Red out of it in the beginning. But all I could see was the chance to help protect you.”

He looked up then, and his eyes were such a brilliant blue that something stabbed in Buffy’s chest. She kept her reaction from showing, however, and just stared at him until his gaze slid away.

“When you came here last fall,” she said, “you were all about helping me. Fighting at my side. Watching my back so that we could be partners. What happened to change that, Spike? Why couldn’t you just stick with the original plan?”

“What happened?” His tone was incredulous. “You’re kiddin’, right? You’re _pregnant_ , Buffy. How many times do I have to tell you? I’m not just goin’ to sit by and let something happen to the little one. I can’t.”

“I was doing just fine until Willow’s spell went all wonky.”

“You think so? That spell’s the only reason you haven’t been seriously hurt before now.”

She folded her arms across her chest, though it lost a little of its prior imperiousness with her forearms coming to rest on her swollen belly. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the demon population’s actually on the decline,” she said. “Even Giles said so. Why do you think that is? Well, it’s _not_ because I’m at home, waiting for someone to go out and slay for me.”

This time, he rose to his feet. “No, it’s ‘cause Oz and me are out there, busting our tails makin’ sure they know you’re off-limits,” he shot back.

Buffy froze. “You’re…what?” she asked carefully. This was new. He hadn’t even hinted at anything like this in his confessions.

Indecision flickered across his face for a scant moment before Spike’s jaw firmed. “You heard me,” he said. “Couple of ‘em caught wind of you bein’ pregnant back around Thanksgiving. I’ve been doin’ everything I can to make sure none of ‘em get close enough to do anything about it when you’re not completely up to scratch.”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“Fuck,” he muttered, and strode the few feet that separated them to press his palm flat against her stomach. “How many different ways do I have to say this? You and the little one…you’re all I have. You think I can just stand idly by and watch you get taken away from me? I couldn’t have done it when I was human, and I sure as hell can’t do it now.” He grabbed her arm when she tried to step away. “Buffy, listen to me. You want me to admit I fuck up? Right then. I fuck up. A lot. Always have, and likely always will. But you’re not goin’ to get me to say that I’m wrong in wanting to keep the ones I love safe from harm’s way. Isn’t that why you do what you do? Because you don’t want your little friends to get hurt?”

_They’re your friends, too_ , she wanted to say, but what came out instead was, “I never had a choice about my slaying.”

“You had a choice ‘bout how long you’ve lasted at it, though,” he replied. “And don’t tell me that doesn’t make a difference. I know you. I know how much you need them and your mum.”

This time, the words she wanted came bubbling out of their own accord. “I need you, too, you big jerk.”

His grip on her softened, just as the determination in his face did. Tilting his head, Spike lifted his free hand and stroked Buffy’s cheek, his fingertips dry and cool against her flushed skin. “Never get tired of hearing that,” he murmured. “Especially knowin’ you’re as brassed off as you are. Makes it mean all that much more.”

“You should’ve told me,” Buffy said.

“You would’ve told me not to do it.”

“Well, yeah, but---.”

“And I would’ve said you’re off your box for thinking things could go on like they were, and then you would’ve got all stroppy, and then everything would’ve gone all pear-shaped and I would’ve done it anyway. I just cut out the part of us bein’ miserable.”

“See, it’s that ‘I would’ve done it anyway’ part I’m having a problem with.” Taking a step away, Buffy broke the physical connection between them in order to think more clearly. It was too distracting when he was in such proximity. “I get that you have your way of doing things. I don’t like it, but I get it. But not even taking into consideration how it’s going to make me feel? That isn’t a relationship, Spike. That’s not what I want for us. It never was.”

“It’s not that easy, pet.”

“No, it really is. You just don’t care enough to try.”

She didn’t mean it. Well, she didn’t mean to actually express the sentiment out loud. Especially when she saw the hurt and rising fury darken his eyes.

“You don’t think it’s not bustin’ my balls changing my ways for you?” It was nearly a shout, accompanied by a vicious turn on his heel as he whirled away from her. “A century, I lived without you. And here you are, thinking I can just turn off everything I was, and everything I am, like it was some sort of bloody spigot. You want to talk about relationships, luv, let’s talk about Dru and Angelus, shall we? Who we are today is part and parcel of what we went through with them, and if you try and deny that, you’re not half the Slayer I thought you were.”

“I loved Angel, _not_ Angelus,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, no, you don’t. That sort of Buffy logic means you love William and not me. Is that what you want me to think?”

“You’re twisting my words---.”

“I think I’m just starting to straighten them out.” He was before her so quick that she was startled into stumbling backwards, only stopping when his hands shot out and caught her upper arms. “You can’t have it both ways, Buffy. You can’t stick us into those little compartments with Spike labels and Angel labels and pretend everything is a lovely black and white. You love me. I know that now. And I know you love the William part just as much. But that means you can’t punish me for havin’ a life before you came along, before I knew what you were to me.”

“You mean, like how you punish me for still caring about Angel?”

His lips pursed together for a long moment before he answered. “Right. Point there. It still winds me up knowing he can get to you so easily. But I’m working on it, yeah?”

“So am I.”

“Really? So, the fact that I spent decades doin’ for Dru means nothin’ when you’re tryin’ to suss out why I didn’t tell you what was goin’ on .” Spike shook his head. “This is what I know, luv. When I told Dru ‘bout my plans, she either didn’t hear me for that bloody doll of hers, or she heard me too well, and went off and bollocksed everything up. It got so that I just did what I had to.”

“But I’m not Drusilla.”

“And I’m not Angel. The trick is for us to keep on remembering that, so that when things get fucked, we don’t end up flying off at the handle.”

What he said made sense. A lot of it. It didn’t excuse what he’d done, but it cast a new light on it that Buffy hadn’t considered before. “So, where does that put us, then?” she asked.

For the first time since their fight had started, his eyes seemed to plead with hers. “You tell me. Feels like a bit of a draw.”

She didn’t know what to say. She was tired of arguing, and she was tired of trying to think this through. She was just tired period.

Spike seemed to sense that. His hands loosened their hold on her arms, slipping around her back to pull her against his chest. She hugged him back automatically, taking care not to disturb his bandages, and buried her face into his skin.

“You’re knackered,” he said softly. “Best get you up to bed and try to rest. Today’s been a pisser of a day. We can sort out the next step when we’re a bit more awake to the world.”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed. Echoes of Spike’s declaration about Willow resounded through her skull, but when the tears spontaneously returned, she squeezed her eyes tight against them.

“Stupid hormones,” she muttered.

He didn’t speak, just held her close, and let the sobbing she couldn’t control vent against his bare chest. Occasionally, Buffy would feel the brush of his lips across her temple, but that was as far as he pushed it.

Neither of them was really aware of the footsteps echoing overhead. It wasn’t until the basement door was pulled open and a shaft of light came streaming down that Buffy turned to see her mother outlined at the top of the stairs.

“You two need to come up here,” she said quietly.

“Mom, can’t you see we’re---.”

“It’s Willow.” Coming down a few steps, Joyce bent just enough to meet Buffy’s gaze. “Oz and Xander just called from Rupert’s. They’re on their way over. They say…Willow’s still alive, honey.”

Spike stiffened at the same time Buffy pulled away. “But she wasn’t breathing. I checked her myself…” He paused, cocking his head. “Did they find Studs?”

Joyce nodded. “They found both of them. Unconscious, but alive.”


	49. The Prey of Worms

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LXXIV.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike and Buffy had another talk about their relationship, while Oz and Xander find Willow and Havi alive…

Spike hung back in the hallway as Buffy and Joyce finally emerged from the bedroom. As soon as Oz and Xander had arrived, they’d taken the still unconscious women inside, placing Havi on the couch while Joyce instructed them to put Willow in her room. She and Buffy had then set about checking Willow over, while Oz, Giles, and Spike waited outside. Xander had yet to leave Havi’s side.

“Well, she’s definitely alive,” Buffy said with a smile.

“Is she awake?” Oz asked.

Joyce shook her head. “Not yet. I’m not sure what happened, but…” Her gaze flickered to Spike. “Didn’t you say she got shot?”

“Yeah. In the back. Saw her go down, smelled the blood myself.”

“That’s what I thought you said.”

“I don’t know why,” Buffy interjected, “but we couldn’t find a mark on her. There’s holes in her top with the edges all burned, but there isn’t any blood or bruises or anything.”

“Perhaps it was her magic,” Giles offered. “It’s possible it healed her just as it did the last time she was hurt.”

The others murmured their agreement to the suggestion, but Spike remained silent. He didn’t think it had a thing to do with Red’s magic. He’d seen the barrier she’d had up go poof, and he’d heard her heart stop beating. She couldn’t wield her magic if she wasn’t alive.

“Can I go sit with her?” Oz asked.

Joyce nodded and stepped out of his way, nobody saying a word until the young man had disappeared inside the room. Then, Spike snorted and whirled on his heel to start heading downstairs.

“Where are you going?” Buffy asked.

“You want answers, Studs is the one who’s got them.”

Giles’ hand shot out and grabbed his bicep, jerking Spike to a halt. “You’re not seriously going to try and interrogate her?” he asked in amazement. “The girl’s unconscious. And if she _is_ responsible for Willow’s miraculous recovery---.”

“There is no _if_ ,” Spike snapped. He jabbed a finger down the stairwell. “She’s the one who got Red out of there, and she’s the one they found her with. Whatever happened, you don’t think it was big? Red didn’t _recover_ , Rupes. She was resurrected. That’s the difference between bein’ sick and bein’ dead.”

It was Buffy’s turn to step forward. “Willow’s magic---.”

“Was _gone_ ,” Spike said. “I saw it.” His eyes darted to the closed door, and he leaned in so that his voice was slightly lower. “I wasn’t goin’ to say anything in front of Oz because he doesn’t need this shit right now, but Red’s magic has nothin’ to do with her bein’ back. It can’t. She was dead, Buffy. Saw it, smelled it, heard it. Can’t wave a magic wand if you can’t pick the bloody wand up, now can you?”

“Maybe you were wrong. Maybe she was just very near to death.”

His scarred brow shot up. “You’re tryin’ to tell a vampire who’s been around for over a century he can’t tell a dead body when he sees one?” When nobody spoke up, he nodded and started for the stairs again. “That’s what I thought.”

Being pregnant didn’t slow Buffy down when she really wanted to move. Before Spike could blink, she was in front of him, arms folded across her full breasts. “I know you have problems with Havi,” she said. “But now is _not_ the time for this.”

“And when is the time, luv?”

“When Havi’s up to being asked the questions, and not a second before.” She took a step closer and rested a hand on his arm. “Can’t we just be glad that Willow’s all right?” Buffy asked, her tone gentler, more wheedling. “With everything that’s been going on, can we just take a deep breath and have a shiny, happy moment before somebody else decides to try and make our lives miserable?”

When she put it like that, there was no way Spike could refuse her. “’Course, we can,” he murmured, and opened his arms to bundle her against his chest. He brushed his mouth across the top of her head, but his eyes remained warily on the stairs. Whether any of them wanted to admit it or not, Havi was responsible for all this. Yes, it was a good thing Willow was alive, but anybody who could mess around with magics strong enough for resurrection was someone to be reckoned with. Spike was going to be there when Havi woke up, regardless of what the others might say. There was no way in hell he was letting Buffy or the little one anywhere near somebody that potentially dangerous.

* * *

Xander wondered if she’d freak out when she woke up. His vision wasn’t clear enough for him to see his reflection in a mirror yet, but Buffy’s sharp intake of breath when he’d walked through the door and then Mrs. Summers’ sudden need to see to Xander’s every whim had pretty much told him that he probably weighed in on the walking dead end of the good-looking scale. Hopefully, he wouldn’t scare Havi too badly. She just had to wake up first.

He heard doors opening and closing upstairs, the voices filtering in and out of his awareness until two became louder as they came down.

“Do you need anything?” he heard Mrs. Summers ask.

Xander turned his head in her direction, more out of habit than anything else. “I’m fine,” he assured her. “How’s Willow?”

“Still unconscious. Oz is with her.”

“And Buffy?” He didn’t ask about Spike. He knew if Buffy was OK, the vampire would be, too.

“Resting.” There was a pause. “Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you something? A glass of water? Some cookies?”

After a second round of refusals, he listened to Giles and Mrs. Summers go out into the kitchen, murmurings of, “Shouldn’t we call the doctor?”, trailing after them.

He shifted back in his seat, reaching out to touch Havi’s arm again, using its length as guidance as he took her hand in his. Almost as soon as their palms touched, a small moan emanated from the dark, blurry shape that was Havi, followed by a twitch in the fingers he held.

“Please be awake,” he whispered, leaning forward. He said her name once, then again, hoping for some response.

On his third attempt, the hand in his tightened, and he heard, “Xander? Where…where…”

Her voice was hoarse, her tone confused. Squeezing her fingers even harder, he said, “Buffy’s house. You’re at Buffy’s.” He paused. “You’re home.”

“Home…”

When he felt the cushions shift against his knee, he realized she was trying to sit up. “Hey, hey, no getting up,” he said, reaching up to press her back down onto the couch. He didn’t quite find her shoulders. Instead, his hands came to rest on her breasts, and both of them froze.

“Xander?” Her voice was a little bit stronger, carrying beyond the confines of the living room walls. Footsteps echoed from the kitchen, and he jerked his hands away just as he realized what was happening.

“Havi.” Mrs. Summers was suddenly beside him, gently prodding Xander out of the way while she bent over the young woman on the couch. “How do you feel?”

“Fine. Tired.” The dark shape shifted as she sat up. “Where is Willow?”

“She’s upstairs,” Giles said. “Alive, although apparently, that’s a recent development. Oz and Xander found the two of you outside Sunnydale. Can you tell us what happened?”

Havi sighed, and sagged back onto the couch. “It worked, then. I thought…I shouldn’t be here if it had, but…as long as it worked.”

“As long as what worked?” Giles prodded. “What did you do?”

“I took her to the Well of Guardians. If Willow lives, it is because of their intervention on her behalf.”

They fell into silence while they digested the information. Finally, Xander couldn’t stand it any longer. “Why did you say you shouldn’t be here if Willow was alive?” he asked.

He wished he could see her face when she replied. “Because you cannot simply bring a person back from the dead,” she whispered. “It requires balance. A life for a life. I did the only thing I could think of to bring her back.”

The past two days had given Xander a lot of time to think. Starting with all his driving around, going over and over how Havi had been hiding her time with Baltozar, and then today, finding out how she’d been pivotal in coming to his rescue, the lengths she went to save Willow. Guilt had been the first order of the day, but that was nothing compared to thinking that she’d been prepared to sacrifice her own life for Willow’s. All his assumptions about her loyalties made him feel even more foolish than he already did. He owed her an apology. A big one.

“But you’re alive.”

“That’s our Giles,” Xander said. “Master of the obvious.”

He didn’t need his vision back to know that the Watcher was likely giving him the gaze of death.

“All I’m saying,” Giles continued, his tone just this side of condescending, “is that if what Havi says is true, the Guardians chose to exchange another life for Willow’s. We have no idea who that person might be.”

“Well, we know it’s none of us, so count me in on the not really caring who it is,” Xander said. “Maybe these Guardians finally got something right.”

“Xander…” He almost jumped away when he felt Havi’s warm hand come to rest on his arm. It was light, barely there, and for a second he thought she was going to pull away of her own accord. But then came, “May I speak to Xander alone, please?”

He was stiff as he listened to Giles and Mrs. Summer murmur their acquiescence and leave the room. Though he kept his head bowed, he heard Havi shift on the couch, and when she spoke again, she was obviously nearer to him.

“Do they hurt?” she asked softly.

It took him a moment to realize she was referring to his eyes. “It could be worse,” he joked. “The demon could’ve poked them out and eaten them for breakfast.”

Her hand left his arm, and the soft flutterings of her fingers tickled along his face. “I am so sorry,” she said. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t---.”

“Stop that.” Catching her hand in his, Xander carefully entwined their fingers. “I think there’s enough blame going around for me to get some, too. We both made some mistakes. The important thing is everybody’s safe now. You’re back, I’m back, Willow’s back. It’s a veritable backapalooza.”

“You don’t…are you still angry with me?”

She sounded lost, and Xander couldn’t resist lifting their hands to press a kiss to her fingers. “I’m not thrilled you kept me out of the loop for so long,” he admitted. “And if you’re going to insist on going and checking on Baltozar any more, you’re going to have to put up with me coming with you. Not because I don’t trust you. Because I don’t trust him. Coma or not.”

“And…us?”

“Do you still want there to be an us?”

He didn’t know why she took so long to answer. He was beginning to really hate the fact that he couldn’t see her face.

“I love you,” she whispered. “But I do not wish to be where I’m not wanted. It’s your choice, Xander. If you wish to just be friends, then---.”

“Wait a minute. Back up.” His mind was whirling. Had she really said the words out loud?

“Did I say something wrong?”

“That depends. You…love me?”

“Yes. You know that. I’ve---.”

“---never actually said the words out loud before,” Xander finished.

“But you knew,” Havi pressed. “You must’ve. Did you think I would agree to live with you if I didn’t?”

“Well, no, but---.”

“I love you, Alexander Harris.” She let go of his hand and reached up to run her long fingers over his face again. This time, they seemed to carry an intent that made his cock start to harden. “If you require me to say it more often, I will. But I thought you knew how I felt. Of all the gifts I’ve been given by coming to Sunnydale, having you in my life has been the greatest of those.”

It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see her. Well, it did when he accidentally kissed her ear instead of her mouth. But all too quickly, their mouths were fused, his arms tight around her. None of the other stuff mattered any more. The two women who meant the most to him in this world were both still alive, and in spite of his Beavis and Butthead tendencies to be incredibly stupid about relationship stuff, Havi still wanted him around. More importantly, she loved him. That was enough to make dealing with the rest tolerable.

Later. After he was done kissing her.

* * *

Spike pressed a kiss to the top of Buffy’s head and carefully disengaged from their embrace, sliding off the bed and padding silently to the door. In spite of her protestations otherwise, she’d fallen asleep almost as soon as they’d laid down, her luscious bottom cradled against his crotch. The little one had started moving immediately, and for a little while, Spike had been fascinated by the feel of Buffy’s skin undulating beneath his arm. He didn’t know how she slept through it; to him, it felt like Schmoo was being a one-baby chorus line. But still she slept on, snoring lightly, oblivious to any of the drama going on downstairs.

Spike lasted as long as he could, but when he heard Havi say something about a life for a life, he couldn’t stay still any longer.

The sounds of kissing came from the living room as he descended the stairs. That made his choice on who to talk to easy. He had no desire to see Studs and Harris going at it. Sauntering into the kitchen, he walked past where Joyce and Rupert were talking by the counter, and opened the refrigerator for a packet of blood.

“So, what’s the verdict?” he said, pouring it into an empty mug.

“About what?” Giles asked with a frown.

“Someone’s got to go talk to these Guardians, right? Find out just what in hell is goin’ on?” When neither of them responded, Spike snorted. “Don’t tell me you’re not fussed about this life for a life business. Those are serious magics they’re messin’ with. I’m as glad as the rest of you that Red’s OK, but I’m not so thrilled that there’s a group of people out there with the mojo big enough to do something like this, and the only one with a beat on them is Studs.”

“Havi’s done nothing but help since she arrived,” Joyce said. “And considering what she did for Willow, I don’t think we’re in any positions to be making demands of these Guardians.”

“There’s nothing to be done for it anyway,” Giles said. “According to Havi, the only people allowed to approach the Guardians are Slayers, other Guardians, and Protectors. We couldn’t go to them, even if we knew where they were.”

Spike scowled as the microwave pinged behind him. Rupert had a point there. That was a detail he’d forgotten completely about.

“We have other pressing matters on our hands to deal with,” Giles continued. “For instance, what are we going to do with Mr. Miller?”

“Could always chain him in your bathtub again,” Spike offered.

“You just left him with Wesley?” Joyce said, ignoring Spike’s comment.

“Yes. He’s made no move to get away. Frankly, I think he’s in just as much danger as the rest of us. His superiors can’t be happy about his abetting Xander’s escape.”

“Still like the idea of chaining him up,” Spike grumbled as he sipped his blood.

“Has he said who he’s working for?” Joyce asked.

The bend in the conversation sparked a memory in the back of Spike’s head, forgotten in the rush of Willow’s death and subsequent return. “Harris said something,” he said, before Giles could reply. “The doc who kept interrogating him was a bird named Walsh.”

“So?”

“So, that’s the name of Buffy’s psych prof.”

“It’s a common enough name---.”

“And remember those soldiers who tried goin’ after Oz the first time? One of ‘em was her TA.” He almost said, _The_ _wanker I killed_ , but then thought better of it. “Friends with Miller? Don’t tell me that’s just a coincidence.”

He could see it in Rupert’s face that he didn’t think it was either, and it took only a moment for the Watcher to start marching into the living room. Spike hurried after him. He wasn’t missing these fireworks for anything.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were being held captive by Dr. Walsh?” Giles demanded in the next room.

Xander and Havi broke apart from their embrace, Havi quickly readjusting her top over her firm breasts. “Because I forgot?” he said, his face red.

“You didn’t think that was important information to share?”

“I did share!” Bristling, he rose awkwardly to his feet. “Oz and Spike know, too. Why aren’t you yelling at them?”

Giles took a deep breath. “Why don’t we sit down so that you can tell me exactly what happened to you?” he suggested. “Assume I know nothing.”

“Well, that’s not a long stretch,” Spike muttered.

He hung back while they settled in to go over everything that had happened. He might not be able to do anything about the Guardians, but Walsh was another story altogether. She was just a human. His jaw twitched as his resolve firmed.

Humans were his specialty.

* * *

Graham Miller was the type of young man who’d always given Wesley nightmares as a small boy. Physically powerful with a silent cunning in his eyes obvious to anybody who bothered to look, his gaze followed Wes no matter where he moved throughout Rupert’s flat. Even when he was in the kitchen and there was a wall separating them, Wes could feel the soldier’s eyes boring into him.

He dropped the teacup he was holding when Graham appeared suddenly in the doorway. The glass shattered on the tiled floor.

“Mr. Giles wants to believe in the best of people,” Graham said. “It confuses his decisions when there’s really no need for it.”

Stooping to clean up the mess, Wesley shook his head. “Rupert merely needs to be thorough,” he said. “He doesn’t wish to make a mistake when human lives are at stake.”

“Do you think this old woman is really all that dangerous?”

He glanced up. It was impossible to read the true intent in Graham’s face. “If she has her powers back, yes.”

“Then the choice isn’t really a choice, now is it?”

Wesley sighed. Giles had been firm in his decision to hold off on any action regarding Esme. Clearly, Graham still believed he was right.

“There’s always the possibility that I’m wrong,” Wes said. “It could be just a coincidence.”

“Your argument sounded pretty strong to me.”

It did to him, too. “Even if I think Rupert is making a mistake,” he said, “I can’t act of my own volition. Rupert would be furious, and if the Council should find out---.”

“So, _you_ don’t do it. Old ladies have accidents all the time.”

A shiver crawled down Wesley’s spine. Slowly, he stood up again, his gaze locked on Graham. “She’s not a demon,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Wasn’t that your organization’s intent?”

“I signed up to protect this nation,” Graham said. It sounded like something out of a textbook, but Wesley was convinced that in spite of everything that had happened, the young man still believed every word of it. “Evil takes many forms, sir. It just so happens that Sunnydale is rife with the demon variety.”

“But what you’re suggesting is murder.”

“I’m suggesting that the needs of one don’t always outweigh the needs of many. Sometimes sacrifices must be made in order to protect the greater good.” He paused, and something calculating passed behind his clear eyes. “Oz understands that. I think his friends might, too.”

He didn’t know what Graham’s motivation was in pushing the issue, but frankly, Wesley was desperate to yield to it. Culpability could be taken completely out of his hands if Esme’s death was deemed an accident or blamed on the soldier. This possibility could work in everybody’s favor.

Rinsing out the tea-stained dishcloth, Wesley struggled for neutrality while he spoke. “I should go check on her anyway,” he said. “Perhaps she’s woken up already.”

There was a pause. “Mr. Giles asked you to keep an eye on me.”

“Then you’ll just have to come with me, won’t you?” He dried off his hands, studiously avoiding looking at Graham. “We shan’t be gone too long. Rupert will never know we stepped out.”

* * *

Opening her eyes hurt, but Willow struggled anyway, blinking against the brilliant light that seemed to be streaming from everywhere. It looked like someone had overexposed the world, leaving everything white and washed-out, with details blurring into nothingness no matter where she turned her head. She could feel softness beneath her cheek, and her back felt kind of funny, but none of it told her where she was. Until she heard his voice.

“You’re awake,” he murmured.

It was warm and so quiet that it could’ve been part of a dream. She tried turning her head in the direction from which the voice came, but movement was difficult, dizzying, as if she’d forgotten how. That couldn’t be. She knew this. She knew the voice. It was…

But the specifics escaped her.

“How do you feel?”

Her mouth was dry, and all of her muscles felt like they’d been coated in cement. Something inside her felt hollow, as well, as if somebody had reached into her body with a big scoop and dug out all her internal organs. How could she feel too light and too heavy at the same time? That wasn’t right.

“It’s OK if you can’t speak,” he said. “It’s kind of been a long day. You just have no idea how glad I am you’re awake.”

Something cool touched her forehead, and her hair tickled on her skin where it was being brushed back from her eyes. Without thinking, she turned her face into the caress and was rewarded with the same touch along her cheek. Her nose twitched. She could smell soap and something woodsy. Dirt maybe. She blinked again, and this time, the world was a little less bright, a little more focused.

“I’m going to go tell the others you’re awake,” he said.

When the touch disappeared, Willow panicked. “No,” she managed to croak. “S-s-s-stay.”

“OK, sure.” The touch returned.

Seconds passed, merged into minutes. The world sharpened with each breath, until she could see outlines, colors, him. She knew him. She was sure of it. She just had to find the right…

“Oz…”

He smiled gently. “Don’t push yourself. Just relax. It’ll get better.”

Willow nodded and let her eyes flutter shut. Yes. That was easier. Maybe she could just sleep…

But remembering his name made other things come hurtling back, almost as painful as the light had been when she’d woken up. Images too fast to see, filled with emotions to turbulent to ignore. Her heart started pounding in her chest.

Fire. She remembered fire.

And pain, as something had been ripped from her. Something essential. Something she needed. Something that was a part of her.

She knew then why she felt so empty. All that power, all the magic she’d had had at her fingertips, it was all gone.

The tears started flowing before she could stop them.


	50. The Defendant Doth That Plea Deny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XLVI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Willow and Havi have woken up, Xander has told Giles about Dr. Walsh, and Wesley and Graham have come to an unspoken agreement regarding Esme…

The van was what tipped Graham off.

It was abandoned at the side of the road several hundred feet ahead, dark and nondescript. “Pull over,” he ordered, his eyes narrowing as he began scanning the area around the parked car.

Though he jumped at the barked command, Wesley did as he was told, not saying a word until the engine was quiet. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “We’re not there yet.”

Graham pointed. “I think somebody else is.”

Squinting through his glasses, Wesley leaned forward for a better look, inadvertently pressing the horn at the same time. He jerked back almost immediately and flushed a bright crimson when Graham leveled a stern gaze at him.

“Sorry about that,” Wesley said. “But why do you think that has anything to do with Esme?”

Being forced to work with someone as slow as this was enough to make Graham consider risking a return to the Initiative. “I’ve been doing covert ops for two years now,” he explained. “I know a little about sneaking around in this town.”

He didn’t wait for a bumbled reply, instead reaching around into the back seat and grabbing one of the crossbows that rested there. He would’ve much preferred a gun of some sort, but for whatever reason, these people didn’t believe in automatic weapons. Their penchant for every other kind of weapon under the sun was almost ironic; when it came to killing, they seemed to prefer a more hands-on approach.

Moving silently along the edge of the road, Graham hoped that the Englishman would just stay back at the car. He was a liability. He was easily distracted and had a tendency to fall over his own feet. Somewhere down the line, Graham had no doubt those traits would get Wesley killed, but in the meantime, he didn’t want to be in the path of the accident that was just waiting to happen. He had a threat to take care of.

He reached the house long before Wesley caught up to him. The front door was slightly ajar, the flowers in the front trampled and broken by careless feet. Whoever was inside had taken little care about being seen. Graham wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing.

Circling the house took only a few seconds. The back was securely fastened; nobody had made any attempts at entry there, and it didn’t appear as if they were going to be coming out that way, either. He debated for a moment about using that to get in, but decided against it. If the door was locked, he’d have to break it in, and that would allow anybody inside the chance to escape through the open front. It would also put them on the alert to fight back. Without knowing how many men there were inside, that was the equivalent to slitting his own throat.

He stayed low as he crept toward the front door of the house. Voices filtered from the interior, all British, most of them male but with a single feminine one that kept interrupting the others. She sounded too young to be the old lady Wesley and Giles were at loggerheads about; Graham could only assume that she was this Lydia that Wesley lived with.

The conversation became clearer as he stopped just outside the door.

“…none of your business!” a man barked.

“It _is_ ,” the woman insisted. Lydia. Graham had to keep reminding himself that. “I’m the one who’ll be left to answer the questions---.”

“Which is exactly why the less you know, the better off you’re going to be.”

“I disagree. I think---.”

“Aw, shut it, Lydia.” Another man, this one obviously less educated than the first. His accent was thick, with glottal stops instead of proper consonants through half of it. He grunted, and the floorboards creaked. “We’ve done what we come for. If you wouldn’t bang on ‘bout what don’t concern you, we’d’ve been outta here by now.”

“Mr. Travers---.”

“---gave us explicit instructions,” the first man finished for her. “You want me to ring him so he can tell you himself?”

“Well, no, but---.”

“Let’s get crackin’,” the second man complained. “I’ve had more than an earful of her already. And this witch is gettin’ bloody heavy.”

Laughter rumbled from the room. That was not just the single other man responding, Graham realized. That was a whole bunch of them. If he went in, he was going to get his ass thoroughly kicked.

But they had the witch, and from the sounds of it, they were leaving with her. Considering how dangerous Wesley said she was, Graham knew he couldn’t let that happen.

The first arrow was whistling through the air before he was even through the doorway, a man’s shout of pain following almost immediately afterward. Graham found himself confronted with a roomful of people, too many for him to count without losing the element of surprise, and he settled for throwing his shoulder at the nearest man in black, half-smiling in satisfaction when that one went down as well.

“Out! Now!”

The orders were barked by the first man Graham had heard, and he whirled in the voice’s direction, knowing that this was the team leader. If he took him out, the team would falter, and getting the rest would be simple. Without any more thought, he charged, his fingers busy with the crossbow.

A booted foot slammed into Graham’s side, throwing him off-course and temporarily winding him. The leader suddenly loomed into view, bigger than him by a foot and fifty pounds, but Graham had never been the type to be intimidated by size. Riley had always been his physical superior, but their sparring records had been evenly matched. It was just a matter of knowing your opponent.

And not getting distracted.

“Lydia!” Wesley shouted from behind him.

Graham’s reaction was automatic, glancing to the door where Wesley was wrestling with one of the black-clad men. He saw the taser appear from nowhere, but before he could call out a warning, a fist the size of South Dakota landed square in his jaw.

The world went black.

* * *

Spike was seeing red, and it was taking his last ounce of self-restraint not to punch his hand through the living room wall. “You can’t bloody do this to me, Buffy,” he said through gritted teeth. He stormed behind as she moved to the kitchen, wishing she would turn around and look at him for a split second to see how pissed off he was about this. “You can’t shut me out like this.”

“Don’t you get it, Spike? I have to.” That was when she chose to look, and it forced him to halt in his tracks. Her face was pale but her eyes were hard. She’d made up her mind on this, and this time, there was going to be no changing it. “We’re just going to talk to her, and if you come along, you’re not going to talk. You’re going to hit, and potentially kill, and the last thing we need right now is to screw this up.”

“That Walsh bitch is the reason we almost lost Red. Killing’s too easy for her.”

Buffy’s lips thinned as she visibly tried not to lose her temper. “We don’t even know for sure if she’s involved.”

“We bloody well do!”

“You’re jumping to conclusions!” It took her a moment to realize she’d raised her tone to match Spike’s. As she turned away to try and compose herself again, Spike crossed his arms in front of him, shoving his hands into his pits to stop from reaching out and grabbing her. He knew he shouldn’t be pushing her buttons like this, but he just didn’t understand how she could leave him out of something so big. The desire to shake some sense into her was overwhelming.

“If Dr. Walsh is involved in this,” Buffy started again, her voice back to its even cadences, “I promise, you can be right up in front for the fight. I know how much you care about Willow, and I know…I know that’s how you need to deal with this. But this is not the time, Spike. We have to be careful.”

“You’re letting Oz go.” He sounded like a petulant child, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t bloody fair.

“Because that’s what Willow wants. Besides, he’s less likely to lose it with Walsh than you are. Between the three of us, we should get all we need from her, once and for all.”

She was moving again, back out to the living room, gathering her coat so that she could join Oz and Giles out in the car. Again, Spike followed, knowing that at any moment she could put an end to the conversation by just walking out the front door. He wasn’t so sure she wouldn’t, just to get away from him. Between this and what she’d learned about Red’s spell and his other dealings, he wasn’t exactly in her best graces right now.

“You’re makin’ a mistake,” he said. “Goin’ in there like this, you’re just goin’ to tip the bitch off. She’s already had her goons after Oz. What if she decides she wants a Slayer now, too? Let me go, luv. The more muscle you show up with, the better your results are goin’ to be.”

Buffy didn’t say a word while she slipped her coat over her shoulders. It didn’t close properly any more over her stomach, but she refused to go buy another one, complaining that they made her look like a beached whale. Now, it hung open at her sides, and all Spike could see was her prominent bump. It made his chest hurt thinking she was putting the little one at risk over this.

“You’re over-reacting because it’s been an awful day,” she said, oblivious to the way he was fixating on her stomach. “Nobody’s tried anything with Oz since last fall, and nobody’s going to try anything now.” Tentatively, she took a step toward him, reaching for his hand to take it tightly in hers. “I know what you’re trying to do, Spike, but you have to trust me this time. Giles and I know what we’re doing.”

She brushed a kiss across his cheek and then slipped out the front door, leaving him standing and staring at it in disbelief. She was going. She really was shutting him out.

He sat down heavily on the bottom step of the stairs and buried his head in his hands. The notion of taking off and beating the lot of them to Walsh was the first to flit through his mind. He could do it. Though it was still daylight, he could find a way to make it happen. But his feet never moved. If he made that choice, Spike knew he’d be throwing away his future with Buffy with both hands, and that was something he couldn’t do. He was just going to have to suck it up and pray he was wrong about the Walsh woman.

With Buffy gone, the house was nearly silent. Joyce had run to the grocery store to get something that would feed everyone dinner, and, with their arms sickeningly around each other, Xander and Havi had retreated to her bedroom. The only sounds he could hear were Red’s quiet sobs. They’d started when she finally woke up, ebbing in the brief period when the entire gang was in the room checking up on her. She’d regarded them with blank stares, making Spike think she wasn’t really in there. Only the news about Dr. Walsh had provoked a response from her, making her eyes flash as she asked Oz to go with Buffy. The second the car left the driveway, the crying started up again.

Now, it drew him back to his feet, prompted him to start climbing the stairs. It reached into his gut and yanked, not as hard as it did when it was Buffy who was hurting, but some. It was enough to make him momentarily forget his frustrations with the Walsh situation.

The crying stopped when he knocked on the door. “Come in,” Willow called, her voice wavery.

He slipped in as discreetly as he could. She’d complained about the light earlier, even that which spilled in from the hall, and the room was still draped in shadows to accommodate her choice. Spike got that. The dark could be surprisingly comforting, but few ever really understood that. “They’re gone,” he said simply, regarding her swollen features.

Her eyes were bloodshot, and her nose was running. She looked like hell, but Spike didn’t see that. He just saw her. Scary resurrection or not, he was glad to have her back.

His choice of words seemed unfortunate, because her eyes filled with unshed tears. “Oh,” she said. “OK.”

He took a step closer. “You need anything?”

She shook her head, though he heard the slight hastening of her heart. He decided to try again.

“Could be worse,” he said. “Studs’ little trick might not have worked.”

A nod this time. Her hands twisted the edges of the blanket and she seemed to shrink into the pillows. The silence grew longer.

Spike sighed. This was going nowhere. “If you change your mind…” he said, retreating for the door again.

She spoke when his hand touched the knob. “It’s gone.”

He glanced back at her and said gently, “What’s that, pet?”

Fat tears slipped down her cheeks as she lifted her head to look at him. “The magic. It’s all gone.”

At least now he knew why she was crying. Letting go of the door, Spike returned to the foot of the bed, pulling up the chair from the desk to straddle it. “I know.”

Her eyes were luminous as she stared at him. “How…how do you…know that?” she asked.

“Was there, wasn’t I? I saw the wall you had up go down.” He hesitated before saying the next. “I saw you die, Red.”

She wasn’t bothering to hold back her tears any more. Keeping his silence, Spike let her continue to cry, her thin shoulders bobbing up and down. He had a feeling where this was going to go, but it was Willow’s pain, Willow’s loss. She had to lead the way at her own pace.

“I want it back,” she whispered when the sobs started to subside again.

He tilted his head, his gaze soft. “And why’s that?”

“I feel…I feel…”

Her struggle to find the right words to express herself hit a little too close to home, and Spike’s eyes dropped while he waited. Only when nothing came did he dare to look up again.

“Just spit it out, Red,” he said. “Say the first thing that comes to you.”

“I’m useless now,” Willow said quietly. “The magic…that’s why the Guardians wanted me. And…and…I can’t help Buffy now. I can’t do anything.”

He wanted to be sympathetic toward her. He really did. But something about her tone pricked his temper, and Spike snorted as he stiffened in the chair.

“What a load of rubbish,” he said. She’d obviously been expecting more of the same soft treatment, and her eyes widened almost comically as he went on. “If you ask me, you’re better off without. You managed just fine before you got the power boost, and you can do it again.”

“But…I can’t do the same stuff. With Esme’s magic---.”

“You were settin’ half of us on fire and scarin’ the other half.” He shook his head. “You were doin’ spells long before Rose did her switcheroo, Red. There’s no reason you can’t be doin’ them again. Just might not be as easy any more.”

“That’s an understatement,” she mumbled, burrowing deeper into the blankets. “I don’t know why I thought you’d understand.”

“Thing is, I _do_ get it.” Rising, Spike carried the chair to the side of the bed so that he could be closer. “I know what it’s like to feel worthless, to think you’re not good enough, to be afraid that what you can do isn’t up to scratch. And I got over it.”

Willow rolled her eyes. “Ha. Got over it. Drusilla bit you, and you turned all-powerful. _Evil_ , but all-powerful. That doesn’t really help your case, Spike.”

“No, you got it wrong. It wasn’t becoming a vampire that did it. It was meeting Buffy.” Some of the tension eased as his mind drifted to thoughts of those nights in the park, long before she became manifest in his daily life. “The first time. The _real_ time. She helped me see that I had a bit of worth after all.”

“You must be catching some of Buffy’s pregnancy hormones,” Willow said with a half-smile, “because this is just way too Hallmark for the Spike I know.”

“Doesn’t make it not true. I know it hurts, Red, but I’ll wager it hurt Oz and Buffy and Harris a hell of a lot more when you weren’t here at all.”

She grew silent at that, slipping her hand between her cheek and pillow as she rolled onto her side. At least she wasn’t crying any more; that was a step in the right direction.

“I don’t remember what it was like,” she murmured. “I remember…fighting. And I remember…hearing the gunshots. But I don’t remember what came after. I don’t know if there was a light or a tunnel or anything. I just remember…waking up. And I was so empty, Spike. I didn’t feel like me.”

He couldn’t resist reaching forward and pushing the lank hair away from her face. “You’re not empty, pet,” he said gently.

“Did…did Havi say… _why_ the Guardians brought me back?”

He shook his head. That whole business still didn’t make sense to him. “The way I see it, though,” he said instead, “if they didn’t want you just like this, why go to all the fuss of savin’ you? Must be something in there worth saving. Least, that’s what I think.”

It wasn’t necessarily a smile that fluttered across her features, but it wasn’t a frown, either. With a heavy sigh, Willow closed her eyes, her heartbeat slowing, her breath deepening. Within a couple minutes, she was fast asleep.

Spike stayed at her side for a long time, watching the peace that had finally come over her face. He believed what he told her; she’d be fine without the magic. But there was a small part of him that understood her fear. What if his demon was stripped away and he was left as weak William once again? He would likely be going through most of what Red was.

There was a sizable difference, though. William might not be as strong or resourceful as Spike, but Buffy had taught him he could still be valuable. It was just up to Willow’s friends to remind her of the same thing.

His mind wandered to what Buffy was trying to accomplish with Walsh. Never had their sense of white hat bureaucracy frustrated him like it did now. He was still angry about his exclusion, but that had receded in the face of Willow’s pain and all he could hope for now was that Buffy was right this time. Maybe the woman wouldn’t press beyond talking. She was a teacher, after all.

A teacher with an army at her beck and call.

Bloody hell. They were all fucked.

* * *

When they found both Dr. Walsh’s office and home deserted, Buffy realized with a sinking stomach where the woman likely was. The look on Giles’ face stopped her from making the suggestion, though; after what had happened to Willow, there was no way he was going to let her anywhere near the commandos’ underground hideaway. It would’ve been a huge risk even if she wasn’t seven months pregnant.

“We can try again tomorrow,” he said gently.

“She could be gone by tomorrow,” Buffy countered.

“Maybe Spike was right.” Simultaneously, Buffy and Giles swiveled to stare at Oz in the back seat, who gazed back with his usual inscrutability. “We’re not going to find her today. Maybe we should forget about talking to her at all.”

“We don’t just randomly attack strangers,” Giles said.

“We’re not.” Buffy sagged against her seat, rubbing at her weary eyes. “She’s the one, Giles. We know it. This is just stalling the inevitable.”

“I still think it would be best to talk to her---.”

“So she can tell us…what, Giles? They’ve been working under our noses for months now. They had zero issue shooting down a couple of girls. We were naïve to think we could just walk in and say, ‘Hi, we hear you’re the head of a secret military organization with crazy notions of controlling demons instead of killing them. Care to comment?’” She shook her head. “What we need to figure out is how to destroy their operations. That’ll take care of Dr. Walsh.”

“We’ve got Graham,” Oz said. “He can confirm whether or not it’s the same Dr. Walsh.”

“Do you really think we can trust him?” Giles asked.

“Yeah. He didn’t have to tell us about Xander, and the soldiers who attacked us made it pretty clear he was in trouble for selling them out. He’s either on our side or no side.”

“I like the idea of our side.” Buffy sat up straighter, newfound resolve giving her strength. “Let’s go, Giles.”

Their efforts, however, continued to be frustrated. At Giles’ apartment, Wesley’s car was noticeably absent, and when Giles emerged alone, Buffy knew he’d found nobody inside either.

“We’ll try his house,” Giles said, starting the engine up again. “Perhaps Lydia had another emergency.”

Emergency was an understatement.

They knew something was wrong when they passed Wesley’s abandoned car on the side of the road. Buffy twisted in her seat, watching the car recede behind them, when she saw Oz lean toward the window and sniff at the open window.

“Someone’s hurt,” he announced.

Giles gunned the motor the last remaining yards to the house, coming to an abrupt halt that made Buffy’s seatbelt tighten uncomfortably across her pelvis. Her fingers flew over the buckle, shoving it out of her way while she pushed the door open and bolted for the front door. She’d only gone a few feet before seeing Wesley’s unconscious body shoved like a broken doll to the side of the porch.

“Giles!” she called out, diverting his attention to Wes while she kicked the front door off its hinges. It shattered with a satisfying crunch, but her notice was captured immediately by a bleeding Lydia crouched over an unconscious Graham.

“What happened?” Buffy demanded, going to their side.

Lydia just shook her head, moving out of Buffy’s way with a pained grimace.

Graham’s pulse was steady and strong, the dark bruise blossoming on his jaw the only evidence of an injury. A broken crossbow was thrown a few feet away, its quiver’s contents scattered amongst the overturned furniture. Lydia was attempting to slide further from Buffy’s reach, but her bleeding leg made movement awkward, especially when Buffy curled a hand around her ankle and pulled her to a halt.

“Oh no, you don’t,” she said. “Tell me what happened here, Lydia. Just because I’m pregnant doesn’t mean I can’t still kick your ass.”

The Watcher paled, wringing her hands in her lap. “It was…chaotic,” she said.

“I get that. Who attacked you?”

Oz appeared at Buffy’s shoulder. “The rest of the house is empty,” he said.

The implication was clear, and it only served to harden Buffy’s determination. “Take care of Graham,” she ordered Oz. Grabbing a nearby throw pillow, she pressed it to the bleeding wound in Lydia’s leg, pushing hard enough to cause Lydia to cry out. “Obviously you were awake for whatever happened here. Who was it? Did they take Esme?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia said vehemently. “They…broke in, and I was struggling when they shot me---.”

“She’s lying.” Wesley’s weary voice rang out from the doorway, and Buffy looked back to see him leaning heavily against Giles. “I was the one who shot her. She was helping the Council take Esme away.”

Buffy turned incredulous eyes back to Lydia, who had shrunk backwards at Wesley’s arrival. “Is that true?”

Silence rang throughout the house while everybody waited for the answer. It never came.

“This most likely confirms what we suspected,” Wesley said. “Esme has her powers back and the Council wishes to keep her under control.”

“They couldn’t do it the first time,” Buffy spat. “Why in hell do they think they can do it now?”

“Esme was still unconscious when they left,” Lydia offered.

Suddenly, it seemed imperative to Buffy that they get out of there. Though she was sure that the Council wouldn’t be coming back, the worry that they might be continuing their abductions elsewhere consumed her as she scrambled awkwardly back to her feet.

“I’m sure they’re all right,” Giles assured her as she and Oz hoisted up the still-unconscious Graham.

“I’m done with this,” she said. “Quentin Travers has been playing god with my life and the people I care about for too long. This ends now.”

“Buffy---.”

“No, Giles. I mean it this time. There’s too much at stake.” She shot him her best California girl smile. “He’s about to learn firsthand that pregnancy hormones are a bitch named Buffy.”


	51. More Worthy I to Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CL.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Spike and Willow have had a talk about her lack of magic, Graham and Wesley walked in on the middle of the Council taking Esme, and Buffy has decided that enough is enough when it comes to Quentin Travers…

It took very little time for the atmosphere at the Summers house to charge. In fact, it only took the time for the wounded and captured to enter. The moment Spike saw Buffy pushing Lydia across the threshold, he bolted from his seat in front of the television and slammed the Watcher to the wall.

“Should’ve known you’d be the first to Judas,” he snarled, his hand tight around her throat.

Buffy pulled at his arm, forcing him to loosen his grip though Lydia stayed pinned in place. “We don’t have time for this,” she said. “And if anybody gets to be the one to smack the bitch around, it’s going to be me. I’ve more than earned it.”

“Leave her be, Spike.” Giles’ calm voice accompanied an equally firm clap on Spike’s shoulder. “As gratifying as I’d find it to be a part of Lydia’s torture myself, we have greater enemies to worry about.”

Spike squeezed for just a fraction of a second before releasing his grip, scowling as Lydia slumped and gulped for air. “Should never have dragged her into this mess,” he muttered. “Things wouldn’t be goin’ pear-shaped if I’d just looked for Rose on my own.”

“I’m thinking Lydia would’ve found a way to stab us in the back anyway,” Buffy commented. Glancing over her shoulder, she watched Oz help a groggy Graham come staggering into the house, Wesley close at their heels. “Are you guys all right? Are we going to need any more first aid kits?”

Oz looked to Graham, who shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said. “I just need a glass of water.”

“That’ll keep you from losing your voice while you’re telling Giles and Spike everything you know about Dr. Walsh, then.” She didn’t wait for anybody’s response. She’d been running on adrenaline ever since she’d called ahead to the house to let Spike know what was going on, and she needed to have her talk with Willow before Schmoo started putting up a fight.

Spike stopped her on the bottom step. When she met his eyes, they were dark with more than worry, and he leaned toward her to keep his words private.

“Red’s in a pretty bad way,” he said quietly. “I let her get some of it off her chest, but…”

Buffy frowned. It wasn’t like Spike to try and so obviously protect any of them other than her. If he felt the need to stand up for Willow, it was probably even worse than he said. “Thanks,” she murmured, and continued up the stairs.

The door was closed, but the sniffles she could hear from the other side were all Buffy needed to know she wouldn’t be waking Willow. She rapped once and waited, pushing it open when the soft, “Come in,” echoed from within.

“Hey,” Buffy said. She was trying for perky, but Spike had been right. Willow’s face was swollen from crying and she looked like she might start up again if somebody said the wrong thing. Buffy was going to have to tread carefully.

“Did you find her?” Willow asked.

“No.” With a sigh, Buffy sat on the end of the bed, drawing her legs up Indian-style so that she could face the other girl. “But Graham confirmed that Spike and Oz were right. Psych prof Dr. Walsh is our psycho soldier Dr. Walsh.” She scowled. “Isn’t that illegal or something? It’s like moonlighting, right? I mean, unless the university knows about her little recruitment program, which I highly doubt. Nobody gets a varsity jacket for demon hunting. If they did, I’d be my own damn team.”

In spite of her obvious distress, Willow’s lips twitched as if she wanted to smile but wasn’t sure it was appropriate. “It makes sense now about how she covered up Riley’s death, though,” she said. “He was working for her.”

A worrisome thought popped into Buffy’s head, but before she could voice it, Willow was speaking again.

“When did you guys convince Graham to talk?” she asked. “Last time he was around, Giles had to resort to the truth spell because he was tighter than a clam.”

Briefly, Buffy regaled the story of what had happened with Esme, watching as her friend’s face grew increasingly pale. “Whatever Travers wants her for,” she finished, “it can’t be good. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been so sneaky about getting her out of Sunnydale.”

Willow swallowed, and her eyes began looking everywhere but at Buffy. “I think I know why they want her,” she said. “She’s got her magic back.”

Though Spike had been adamant about Willow’s power drain, hearing it come from her lips was a different thing entirely. “Are you sure?” Buffy asked carefully.

“Positive. I’m back to being as much of a magical screw-up as Aunt Esmerelda.”

“What?” This must’ve been what Spike had been referring to, but frankly, Buffy had been expecting resurrection angst, not witchy angst. “You’re hardly a screw-up, Willow. Look at what you did last summer, and that was _before_ you got a magical booster shot. And Angel’s soul? You didn’t need anything from Esme to do that. And I’m not even going to _mention_ the dozens of times you helped me with my slaying stuff.”

“Don’t forget my wonderful de-lusting spell,” Willow said bitterly. “Or the fact that I’ve never been able to turn Amy back from being a rat, or---.”

“Those don’t count.”

“Magic isn’t like horseshoes, Buffy. Getting close to the result you want is usually just as bad as missing by a mile. And without Esme’s power---.”

“You’re going to be just fine.” Clambering to the head of the bed, Buffy stretched out beside Willow so that they were shoulder to shoulder. “Remember how impressed Rose was when she heard what you did? And these Guardians must really think you’re something if they’re willing to bring you back from the dead.” She gave her a bright smile. “Hey, we can form a club now! The Dead Scooby Society. I’ll be president, and you’ll have to be treasurer/secretary because you’re way smarter than I am about that kind of thing. We can use one of the caves outside of town for our meetings, and maybe if we’re really nice, we can convince Spike to read some of his poetry.”

By the time Buffy was done, Willow was even giggling. “Spike’s going to be a member?”

“Sure. He died. He came back. OK, as a vampire, but as club president, I say that counts.”

“And you’re not biased at all.”

“Certainly not.”

“You know Xander’s going to be jealous about being left out.”

Buffy waved a hand in dismissal. “He’s going to be too busy making googly eyes at Havi. He’s not even going to notice.”

They shared smiles at the little game, but all too quickly, Willow’s began to fade. “I don’t know, Buffy,” she said. “You don’t know what it was like, having all that power. Being able to do just about anything I wanted. Some of the spells I was researching…it was serious stuff. Stuff that could’ve made your job a heck of a lot easier. I could’ve made a huge difference.”

“But you already do. Who is the biggest brainiac to ever come out of Sunnydale High? Or ever will, since we kind of blew it up?” She poked Willow in the thigh. “You are. And who says you can’t still use the spells? So what if it’s a little bit harder now to cast them? That’s never stopped you before. I think you like it even more when things are hard. In fact, I seem to remember a certain redhead who nearly fell over from excitement when Jonathan accidentally set fire to all of Mr. Lundy’s notes for the senior physics projects. Didn’t you volunteer to be the one to completely reorganize all his stuff from scratch?”

Willow flushed. “Yeah, but that’s different.”

“OK, for those of us who think better with their hands than their brains, how exactly is that any different? Call me Helen Keller, ‘cause I’m just not seeing it.”

The silence that followed was all the answer either one of them really needed. Satisfied that she’d at least put the bug in Willow’s head, Buffy decided to switch tactics to something a little more immediate.

“This stuff with the Council…if Esme does have her power back, it’s going to be on our shoulders to stop her, because there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell Travers will be able to. They couldn’t do it last summer, so why they think they can do it now when she’s going to be pissed off at all of us is beyond me.”

“Graham said she was unconscious?”

“Yeah, but then again, so was he when the rest of the fight went down. It’s possible Esme came to.”

Willow shook her head. “I don’t think so. Not to be a gloomy gus, but the first thing she’s going to do when she wakes up is come after us. Me, for having her magic in the first place, and you, for whatever reason she wanted you last summer.”

Buffy had completely forgotten about that. They still had no idea why Esme had been so desperate to get her hands on a Slayer the previous summer. If she chose to try something again, she was going to have an advantage. Schmoo meant Buffy wasn’t at the top of her act this time around.

“Even more incentive for us to get to her first,” she said, putting on her best brave face. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you can…I don’t know… _track_ where the magic went, can you?”

Willow chewed at her lip. While she wasn’t smiling, some of the sorrow that had been plaguing her features when Buffy had walked in was fading, replaced by the more familiar fervor of having a problem to solve. “I don’t think so,” she said slowly. “But…there might be something else we can do.”

Buffy perked up. “Really? What?”

“Now don’t be making me your only basket,” Willow said, holding up a warning finger. “It might not work. It’s just an idea I had. Half an idea. Not even half. A smidge of an idea, and it might not even work because I never could get the math completely right---.”

“You already said that. What is it, Will?”

* * *

Though his body ached, Graham answered their questions with only minimal hesitation. It was different this time; apparently, the Initiative’s preventive magic only worked if a subject was coerced into telling the truth. Volunteering information didn’t have the same blinding effects.

It also helped that the group seemed a lot nicer to him this time around. Yes, Mr. Giles seemed pissed that he and Wesley had left the apartment, but the fact that they’d interrupted something so big seemed to sway him in Graham’s favor. There was still the issue of Spike hovering in the background, pacing around like a caged lion, too. Graham just ignored him and focused on those who were actually asking the questions. He didn’t want to have to deal with a hostile anyway.

“Extraordinary,” Mr. Giles kept murmuring.

“I just can’t believe that something of this magnitude was happening right under all our noses,” Mrs. Summers said.

Graham didn’t respond to that. Frankly, Mrs. Summers made him a little uneasy. Other than being the Slayer’s mother---and finding out Buffy was the Slayer had been a bullet of information he definitely hadn’t expected---he didn’t see what she had to offer the group. If anything, she was a distraction. She was smart, beautiful, and it was obvious that Mr. Giles was more than a little interested in her. That could only be a liability in the long run.

“We’ll just have to make sure it doesn’t get any bigger,” Wesley announced.

Graham rolled his eyes. The guy had scored some points by shooting the woman who helped the witch escape, but this pomposity was more than a little hard to stomach. “This is the American government,” he reiterated. “You can’t stop them. You can’t slow them down. All you can hope is that you don’t get steamrolled in the process.”

“And yet, you didn’t have any problems selling them out,” Spike commented from the rear of the room.

“I didn’t sign up to hurt civilians,” Graham shot back. “They tried to make me cross a line that I just can’t believe in. And who are you to question my loyalty? Last time I checked, vampires were evil, soulless monsters---.”

“That’s enough.”

So wrapped up in the conversation, nobody had heard Buffy return to the group. Now she stood in the doorway to the kitchen, chin held high, eyes bright and alert in spite of the toll the day must’ve had on her. Spike immediately went to her side, his hand coming to rest on the top of her swollen stomach, and it took all of Graham’s self-control not to curl his lip in disgust. He didn’t understand this need to have a pet vampire hanging around, and he really didn’t want to know what his involvement was with Buffy’s baby. Right now, though, he didn’t have a choice but to accept the situation until he could safely move on.

“We don’t have time for this kind of bickering,” she said. “If you’re here, you’re part of the team, so start acting like one.”

Spike scowled, but Graham nodded in reluctant agreement. It was hard not to respect someone who knew how to take charge; he didn’t need to see any more to know that Buffy Summers wore the mantle well.

“Good. Now. We have two problems, both big, but one is definitely a little more wigworthy. As much as I’d like to kick Dr. Walsh’s ass right now, we have to concentrate on taking care of Esme before she wakes up and realizes she has her magic back.” She waved a hand to ward off the startled glances from the Watchers. “Willow’s sure. And we’re both sure that the first thing Esme will do is come after us, which means she’s just been moved to the top of the priority list.”

“I can call Mr. Travers,” Wesley offered.

“No,” Buffy said. “I don’t want to tip him off that we know what he’s up to. I want Lydia to call and pretend everything went according to plan, while Spike, Oz, Graham, and Wesley sniff around Sunnydale to try and find out if Esme’s still here.”

“I get why me and Oz,” Spike said, his brows drawn together. “What’s with the other two?”

“They’re the only ones who’ve seen the Council’s team. Plus, with all the sneaking around he’s done, I’m going to bet Graham knows corners of Sunnydale I could only guess at.” She looked to Graham. “Am I right?”

“If she’s here, I can find her.” He ignored the look of death Spike shot him.

“Giles and I are going to talk to Lydia,” she continued. “And I’m sending Xander and Havi over to the dorms to pick up some stuff for Willow. She thinks she might be able to figure out a way to track where Esme is.”

“Was that Red’s idea?”

“We’re calling it a collaborative effort.” Buffy smiled. “Remind me to tell you about our new club.”

For the first time since they’d shifted interrogations to Graham, Lydia spoke up. “Mr. Travers will already be aware of your involvement. I’m sure that as soon as they reached their destination, his men contacted him about what happened.”

Some of the certainty softened from Buffy’s features. “Damn,” she muttered. “I didn’t think of that.”

“We’ll wait to contact Travers, then,” Giles said. “But Spike and the others should leave immediately if we don’t wish the trail to go completely cold.”

“Let’s weapon up.”

Buffy hung back as Spike led the others to the living room, grabbing Giles’ arm to prevent him from leaving as well. “Something Willow said made me think of something.” She kept her voice low, though she was more than aware that complete privacy right now was out of the question. “Remember Riley? And how Dr. Walsh lied to her classes about how he died?”

Giles frowned. “Yes. What does that have to do with anything?”

“Riley’s replacement. Dr. Walsh brought him in out of nowhere. What if…what if Robin was doing more than grading papers for her? What if he was stepping into Riley’s shoes for whatever he was doing for Dr. Walsh, too?”

When Lydia visibly started, Graham frowned, more interested in this turn of conversation than which crossbow Spike was going to hand him.

“Did you say Robin Wood is working for this government woman?” she asked.

“Yeah, but…” Buffy’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know his last name?”

It was obvious the Watcher didn’t want to reply, but after a wary glance to the men surrounding her, she sighed. “Mr. Travers asked me to work with him. But I wasn’t aware of his connection with this other agency.”

“Why would Travers know about my psych TA?”

“Through his mother, of course.”

Understanding appeared on both Giles and Wesley’s faces at the same time, and they looked to each other first to confirm their suspicions. “Nikki Wood,” Wesley said. “Of course.”

“It’s just like Quentin to send the son of a Slayer to watch over the pregnant one,” Giles said wryly.

Now everyone in the room was interested in the conversation. Even Spike had stiffened at the mention of this Nikki.

“Robin’s mom was a Slayer?” Buffy’s amazement was palpable. “That means he knew all along who I was. And if he’s working with Dr. Walsh…”

“She knows who you are, as well,” Giles finished.

“That’s it,” Spike said. “I’m bringing the wanker in.”

“No. Spike. I’m going to do it.”

Spike wasn’t the only one to explode at Buffy’s suggestion. Murmurings of _too dangerous_ and _you can’t_ echoed in every possible permutation while the Slayer waited for the outbursts to calm. Only Graham remained silent. He wasn’t sure what he would say wouldn’t turn Spike against him for good.

“Robin’s been only nice to me,” Buffy said once the room had quieted enough for her to speak. “And if he hasn’t done anything up to now, I don’t think that’s going to change.”

“That was before we discovered his involvement,” Giles said.

“But Robin doesn’t know that I know.”

“Unless Mr. Travers has already contacted him.” Lydia cowered slightly under the onslaught of eyes turned upon her. “They’ve been in direct communications since before I knew he was in town.”

“Somebody needs to find him, though,” Buffy argued. “He’s playing both sides, and we need to know why.”

“I still say I’m the vamp for the job.”

This time it was Giles who voiced the dissent, though Graham found his careful wording to be curious.

“We need someone more…impartial to speak with Robin,” he said. “And considering your history, Spike, you are the last person I think qualified for this task.”

“It would seem that I’m the only logical choice,” Lydia said.

“Maybe on the planet of you’ve got to be kidding,” Buffy commented.

“Actually,” Wes interjected, “I think Lydia’s right. She already has a relationship with Wood. He won’t suspect her if she shows up. Everyone else would cause suspicion.”

“That’s great, except we can’t trust her.”

“I give you my word, Buffy. If you promise my safety, I’ll do whatever you ask.”

The Slayer rolled his eyes. “No offense, Lydia, but you’ve switched sides so often, I’ve got whiplash.”

“Perhaps we could put a bodyguard on her,” Wesley suggested. “Surely you don’t need both Xander and Havi to fetch Willow’s things.”

“Except for the fact that Harris is still doin’ his bloody awful Ray Charles impression.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I can take Xander.” The new voice surprised everyone, but Joyce remained unfazed by the sudden attention. “If Havi feels strong enough to act on her own, I don’t see any reason why I can’t drive Xander over to the dorms and help him find what Willow needs. It’s better than sitting around here feeling useless.”

Though it was clear that Buffy wanted to disagree, the Slayer merely nodded. “I think that’s the only way we’ll get everything done as safely as possible,” she said. She rubbed at her brow as if she had a headache. “I’m beginning to think we need some of Willow’s flow charts to keep track of what everyone is doing.”

“Oh! I’d be more than happy---.”

“I was kidding, Wesley.”

She suddenly looked really tired, and it wasn’t a surprise to Graham when Spike dropped the sword he’d been holding to cross worriedly to her side.

“Why don’t you go get some rest, luv?” he said. “If you want to be at the top of your game, you don’t want to be pushing yourself this hard. Keep Red company while the rest of us see what we can do.”

The way Graham figured, she didn’t really have much of a choice. There wasn’t a person in the room who couldn’t see how exhausted she was, and most of them were prepared to physically stand in her way if she tried to argue with Spike. It was a relief to see, almost. They cared for the Slayer in ways that were admirable, reminding him of some of his early expectations about the Initiative. This was a group who fought for all the right reasons, and though he thought their methods could use a lot of work, there was no discounting the passion they brought or their dedication to doing the right thing. He’d had glimpses of that before, heightened when Oz had instigated their little chat, but this made it all the more real.

He was suddenly very glad that this was the side he was on. Even if he was convinced they were all going to lose anyway.

* * *

The call came when she was packing up to go home. If Maggie hadn’t been so desperate to get news regarding Graham or the intruders, she would’ve just ignored it and taken the message the next morning. As it was, she was never so glad to have answered a call in all her time in Sunnydale.

“Are you sure?” she demanded, scrambling for a pen in her drawer. She began scribbling down the coordinates the technician was reciting over the phone, repeating them back to him after every few digits to make sure she was getting it right. There was no way she was going to make a mistake at this juncture; this was the culmination of everything she’d come to Sunnydale to do.

“Thank you,” Maggie said when he was done, and replaced the phone on the base. She sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh, the beginning of a smile creeping over her face. They’d found it. After all these months and all their false starts, they’d finally managed to find the artifacts she’d been convinced were hidden here. They were located outside of town, underground, and there was going to be work in getting to them, but the hardest part of her goal was now over. The Slayer artifacts were nearly in her hands.

The Slayer, however, wasn’t. That made the artifacts useless. According to her research, only those of Slayer blood could wield the weapons, and Maggie’s plans to recruit Buffy Summers had failed at every turn. Short of kidnapping the girl, she wasn’t entirely sure how to proceed next. She needed to find a Slayer.

The solution that suddenly presented itself made her feel foolish for not seeing it sooner.

Maggie didn’t have a Slayer, but she did have a Slayer’s son.

The artifacts could only be used by those of Slayer blood.

Robin Wood just solved all her problems.


	52. Renew Thy Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LVI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: The truth has come out about Robin so Lydia and Havi have been sent out to fetch him, while Spike, Oz, Giles, and Wesley go on the hunt for Esme…

They split up. No bloody way was he going to spend the bulk of his evening with the soldier boy, even if Buffy was falling for his white flag act. Of course, that meant he was stuck with the Watcher, but Spike figured, of the choices, he was the lesser of the two evils.

He was wrong.

“There! There!” Wesley’s arm shot in front of Spike’s face to point frantically out the side window, effectively blocking his narrow view through the painted windshield.

With a growl, Spike knocked the offending appendage out of his way as he straightened the car out of the veer he’d swung into. “Do that one more time, and I’m goin’ to snap it off at your fuckin’ elbow!” he bellowed. “Then we’ll see how much bloody pointing you can do to annoy me, Stumpy.”

Though he visibly flushed, Wesley didn’t cower away as he normally did. “I’m just saying, I think I recognized the van from the house.”

Spike frowned, glancing in the side mirror. “Where?”

“Back there.”

Though he hadn’t seen anything, Spike spun the wheel, ignoring the flashing red of the intersection to do a u-turn in the middle of the road. The blare of honking cars filtered through the open windows, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wesley grab frantically for the arm rest on his door in a vain effort to keep from pitching sideways. He bit back his smile of satisfaction.

“Now,” he said, once they were facing in the opposite direction. “Back there where?”

He looked expectantly at Wesley, but when the Watcher began to lift his arm to point, Spike only had to lift a single brow before the hand went shooting back into Wesley’s lap.

“In the alley,” the Watcher said. “The first one past the cinema.”

That was all Spike needed. The alley in question was several hundred yards ahead of them, barely visible from their current position. Pulling over at the first available parking spot, he killed the engine and shoved the keys into his coat pocket before twisting to grab one of the crossbows from the back seat. Wesley was just gaping at him in disbelief.

“I said, the _alley_.” He gestured toward the traffic that was passing by. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”

“If you fancy announcing our arrival with a vintage t-bird, you be my guest,” Spike commented. “Just go find your own car to do it with. My baby’s not goin’ in the trenches.” He didn’t wait for a reply before getting out. By the time he’d slammed the door shut, Wesley was already scrambling out onto the sidewalk. “’Sides, we want to be stealthy ‘bout this, right? Can’t sneak in if we’ve got a black albatross ‘round our necks. It’s bad enough I’ve got you.”

More than one passerby shot the duo frightened looks as they strode confidently down the sidewalk. Spike figured he could’ve tucked the crossbow inside his duster, but frankly, strutting down Main Street with an armed weapon in full view had him hard and ready for the fight to come. It took all his self-control not to vamp out and really put the fear of Spike into the crowd.

They slowed their pace as they neared the mouth of the alley, coming to a complete stop at the building’s edge. Inhaling deeply, Spike caught the unmistakable scents of a large group of men, as well as the faint tinge from Esme. There were others, though, and he frowned as he sniffed again.

“What’s wrong?” Wesley said in a stage whisper. He was pressed flat against the wall, his body completely rigid as if he feared for his life should he move. “Isn’t it Esme?”

“And more,” Spike muttered. When he glanced around the corner, the tension released from his body as he began marching boldly into the alley. After a moment, Wesley came scurrying after.

The van was abandoned several dozen yards from the street, lost in the shadows cast by the tall building. Two men were circling around the front of the vehicle, but Spike never broke his stride as he walked right up to them.

“The version we tell Buffy is that I found it first, got it?” he joked with a crooked smile.

Oz stopped in his inspection of the car, his head cocking curiously. “Is that a hero complex I hear? I’d be careful if I were you. This might actually qualify you as a white hat now.”

Graham was studiously ignoring their camaraderie, moving from looking at the abandoned vehicle to the buildings surrounding them. “They’ve moved her,” he said to nobody in particular. “We just have to figure out to where.”

Oz and Spike sniffed the air at the same time, then simultaneously nodded toward the taller building closest to the van. “There,” they said.

Graham’s eyes were inscrutable as he stared at them. “You do realize that’s really creepy, don’t you?”

“Have we found her?” Wesley asked, coming up behind Spike.

“Just have to saddle up and ride in to save the day,” Spike said. He checked his crossbow, making sure it was still primed, before heading straight for the building’s side door.

Oz fell into step at his side. “If we find Esme---,” he started.

“No.” Spike yanked the door open, snapping the lock. This time when he looked at his friend, all amusement was gone from his face. “The bitch is my kill. It might make you feel better in the short run, but later, you’re goin’ to start secondguessing about how you could’ve spared her life and all that rot. It’s better this way.”

“I won’t---.”

“Yeah, you will. But there’s not a chance in hell I’ll ever feel guilty about gettin’ rid of the witch, which is why I’m takin’ this. You’ve got enough shit to be fussed over.”

“Neither of you are going to get to do it if we don’t start moving,” Graham commented from behind.

Spike led the way into the dark bowels of the building. He wasn’t convinced Oz still wouldn’t try something, but he was damned if he was going to let his friend shoulder the responsibility of the kill. Besides, he’d get a certain amount of satisfaction out of draining the bitch anyway. It was a win/win situation all around.

As soon as they found her.

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Lydia smoothed down her hair, pushing back a stray wisp that fell against her cheek. At her side, Havi just stared down at her, stiff and silent as she’d been the entire trip to Robin’s apartment. Lydia really didn’t like the girl.

“Don’t say a word,” she instructed, keeping her voice low. “I’ll do all the talking. We can’t afford to make a mistake at this point.”

“You mean, _you_ can’t afford such a mistake,” Havi countered.

Lydia’s lips thinned, her cheeks coloring. “Just…be quiet.”

Her heart was pounding as she knocked at the door, taking a step away in anticipation of it opening. Muffled sounds came from within, a television’s volume being lowered, and then Robin was there, gazing down at her in surprise.

“Did I miss a meeting or something?” he asked with a wry smile. His dark eyes flickered to Havi’s presence in the hallway, a tiny line appearing suddenly between his brows. He quickly shifted his attention back to Lydia, though, and leaned casually against the jamb. “Is this a social call?”

“There’s a problem.” Without thought, she launched into the cover story she’d come up with. Since Robin had had no idea who Esme was during his last visit, she thought it safe to assume he knew nothing of the extent of her powers or the Council’s interest in her. She had to be careful just how much she revealed.

“Buffy’s found out who you are,” she said. She felt rather than heard Havi stiffen behind her. “I have no idea how, but Rupert says she’s grown quite agitated as a result. She’s insisting that she be allowed to speak with you.”

His face grew hard, the muscles twitching in his cheek. She’d never thought of him as a violent man, but in that moment, Lydia feared that he would lash out at her.

“I think I know,” he said. Straightening, he folded his arms over his chest. “What has she said to you?”

“She wants to talk about your mother. About how you felt about her being a Slayer. Frankly, Rupert and I think this is an over-reaction in regards to her recent scare with the pregnancy. She’s become obsessed in learning as much as she can for the baby’s sake.”

Again, his gaze darted to Havi, though it only lasted for a moment. “I’m not so sure that’s such a good idea,” he said carefully.

“Why?”

He was stopped from answering by the phone ringing from inside the apartment. “Hang on for a second.”

Lydia could only watch helplessly while Robin partially closed the door to go answer the phone. As soon as he was out of sight, Havi’s hand curled around her upper arm and yanked her away from the entrance.

“What are you doing?” Havi hissed.

“I’m trying to get Robin out of here without making a scene,” Lydia shot back.

“You are failing.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“I would think almost anything is better than the method you’ve chosen.”

Lydia’s hand curled into a fist at her side. She couldn’t afford to make her situation any worse, and while she knew that William detested the Protector as much as Lydia did, they were still on the same side. To retaliate against the person Buffy had assigned to guard her would only hurt her in William’s eyes.

“Robin is not a stupid man,” she said instead. “And he doesn’t know the situation with Esme. I’m not about to tip our hand unnecessarily. I’m sure Buffy would agree with me.”

Havi seemed less than sure, but Robin’s returning footsteps stopped her from speaking up again. Lydia wrenched her arm free so that she could return to where she’d been standing when he left.

There was an apologetic smile on his face when he stepped back into the doorway. “Listen,” he said. “About Buffy. I still don’t think it’s such a good idea if I talk to her, but I’ll do it.” He held up a hand to cut off Lydia’s response. “In the morning. Right now, I have to go help out a friend with something, but I promise that I’ll be at the Summers house first thing tomorrow. All right?”

She wanted to argue, but the look in his eyes made it clear it would be a fruitless endeavor. “I’ll tell Mr. Giles,” she said with a phony smile. “I’m sure he’ll be greatly relieved.”

Robin nodded and retreated back into the apartment, closing the door on them. Lydia didn’t have time to react before Havi grabbed her arm and dragged her back outside.

“This is not what we were sent to do,” Havi snapped. She continued to drag Lydia toward the walk, only coming to a stop when she reached a pay phone at the curb.

“What are you doing?” Lydia asked.

“Updating Buffy on our circumstances.” Cradling the phone in her shoulder, she jabbed at the numbers on the keypad, never easing on her tight grip of Lydia’s arm. The Watcher had no choice but to stand there and anxiously watch the front of the apartment complex, hoping desperately Robin didn’t come out and see what they were doing.

The conversation was brief. For once, she was grateful for Havi’s terse manner.

“We’re to follow him,” Havi announced after hanging up.

“Of course we are,” Lydia muttered.

The beginning of a headache was creeping in, and she lost her balance twice as the other woman dragged her back to the waiting car. As much as she disliked the new plan, though, she knew she had little choice but to comply. Buffy was the one in charge now, and unless Mr. Travers came swooping in to save the day---an image that even Lydia found highly amusing---she was stuck doing as she was told. William would be sure to tear her throat out if she dared do anything that bucked his precious Slayer’s good will, and while once upon a time the thought of being one of William the Bloody’s victims had been a romantic fantasy, now Lydia was quite certain that the reality would be far more painful than anything she’d ever imagined. She considered herself an intelligent woman, but bravery, unfortunately, was not her strong suit.

“What else did Buffy say?” she asked, once they were back in the privacy of Havi’s car. “Have the others found Esme yet?”

“No. But Buffy is confident they will.”

Lydia wasn’t. Esme was a master at this particular game. If she woke up, all bets were going to be off.

* * *

They sat on her mom’s bed, Willow’s notebooks strewn around them. Though her face was still pale and pinched, Willow had long ago stopped crying, giving Buffy hope that maybe some of their arguments about her usefulness had started to sink in. It helped that Xander had returned quickly with Willow’s boxes; it gave them something to do while they waited to hear from the others.

Neither was talking about the possibility that Spike and Oz wouldn’t be able to find Esme. That was a bridge they’d cross when they had to. There were too many other things occupying their attention currently to dwell on what if’s. It was bad enough that Havi had called to update her about Robin. Though she’d desperately wanted to tell the girl to knock Robin out and drag him back to the Summers house, Buffy knew they couldn’t. He had connections, and worse, he was an adult who’d probably press charges, regardless of the pseudo friendship they’d struck. They had no choice but to sit back and hope that not only were his night’s plans innocent, but that he’d hold true to his word and come to the house in the morning.

“Can you hand me the green one with the rainbow in the corner?” Willow asked.

Buffy snapped from her reverie to see her friend pointing to a notebook beyond her reach. Stretching, she picked it up and handed it over. “I thought you knew where the spell was,” she commented.

Willow sighed. “I thought I did, too. But my brain’s still a little fuzzy.” She smiled, a wan ghost of her usual perky self. “Probably from the whole dying thing.”

“I wish I’d known you were doing all this stuff,” Buffy said. “Some of these spells…I didn’t realize you were trying so hard to come up with things we could use on patrol. Like this sunlight spell? That would be way cool. Maybe not when Spike’s helping me, but you know, other times.”

She was about to turn the page when a notation at the bottom caught her eye. It wasn’t the searching spell Willow was on the lookout for. No, the word that made her stop and look it over a little more carefully was _soul_.

“What is this?” Buffy asked.

“What’s what?” Willow craned her neck to see what Buffy was pointing to, but the moment she did, her eyes widened and she jerked away. “Oh. You weren’t supposed to know about that.”

“But what is it?” Though the incantation itself didn’t make any sense to her, she read over the ingredient list again. At the bottom, one line was crossed through. “Orb of Thessulah?” Her eyes searched Willow’s face, desperate for an answer that made sense. “That’s what you used to give Angel back his soul.”

“It was just an exercise,” Willow rushed. She tried to snatch the notebook away, but Buffy held it beyond her reach. “I wasn’t actually going to do it to Spike. I just wanted to see if I could.”

She could hear the blood pounding in her ears. “We talked about this, Willow. _You_ were the one who told me not to push it. That we didn’t know what it would do to Spike.”

“And I was right. About not doing it.” Her voice was doing that squeaky thing it did when she was nervous. “It was just messing around, like extra credit when you already have an A+. For fun but it doesn’t really mean anything in the long run.”

She got it. It was a weird Willow thing. “But why’d you cross off the orb?” Buffy asked. “Wasn’t that kind of a big deal with Angel?”

Something in Willow lit up. “Because I figured out that it wasn’t necessary. Well, I think it wasn’t. I never actually _tried_ the spell, so as far I know, it won’t work anyway.”

“Huh?”

“The whole curse thing. I knew that would never work for you and Spike, because, hello, true happiness is kind of the whole point of being together in the first place. So I thought…” Her voice faded away as she realized Buffy wasn’t reacting in the way she’d hoped. “…that it’s really not that important anyway because it’s never going to happen, and I’m just going to go back to looking for that tracking spell now, OK?”

She buried her attention back to the notes in her lap, furtively glancing at Buffy through her lashes.

With a heavy sigh, Buffy tossed the notebook aside, flopping backwards onto the bed to stare up at the ceiling. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m shouldn’t have wigged. I’m just so tired of all this. I’m tired of fighting, and I’m tired of being pregnant, and I’m tired of the Council thinking they know what’s best for me when, to the best of my knowledge, none of them have any idea what it’s like to be a teenaged girl with superpowers.” She grimaced as Schmoo kicked at her bladder. “Most of all, I’m tired of having to pee every five minutes.”

Willow watched as Buffy struggled to sit back up, finally leaning in to offer a hand of support. “You should go get some sleep,” she said. “I can look for the spell on my own.”

Though she hated the idea of leaving Willow, the notion of getting some real rest---after she’d gone to the bathroom---was incredibly appealing. “You’re sure you’re up for it?” Buffy asked.

“Since when have I not been up for a little research? It’s going to take more than being mostly dead all day to put a crimp in this girl’s lust for knowledge.”

With a small smile, Buffy rose and went to the side of the bed to give her friend a hug. “Just for a few minutes,” she said. “And if anything happens, you have to promise to come and wake me up.”

“Scout’s honor.”

The sound of her mother and Giles’ voices drifting from downstairs greeted Buffy when she opened the door. She wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but she lacked the strength to go and do anything about it right then. Later, she vowed as she stumbled into the bathroom. After a potty break and a little nap.

* * *

He watched Joyce bustle around the kitchen, cleaning appliances that weren’t in need of cleaning, wiping down surfaces that weren’t in need of wiping. She chattered while she worked, doing everything she could to avoid the more serious topics of Esme and the government installation humming beneath Sunnydale. Finally, when she went to the sink to rinse out her dishcloth in order to clean the stove yet again, Giles rose from his perch at the island and crossed behind her.

“Enough,” he said quietly, taking her hand in his. Carefully, he opened her fingers and forced her to drop the cloth. “You should do as the others and get some sleep.”

When she sagged against the edge of the counter, he felt a tug of sympathy at the defeated slump of her shoulders.

“I don’t know how all of you do it,” Joyce said. “Xander was telling me these stories when we were in the car, so I know this stuff with Graham and Lydia is hardly new to you. But I just don’t understand where you find the strength to deal with it. It’s taking everything I have just to keep up with Buffy and the baby, not to mention the issues with Havi and Spike.”

Gently, he turned her around to face him. “And you’re doing a remarkable job,” he said. “You’ve certainly been much better with Buffy than I have regarding the pregnancy. And welcoming strangers into your home? That takes its own brand of courage, especially knowing that one of them is a vampire.”

She gave him a half-smile. “There would’ve been a time when you would’ve told me that that was stupid, not brave.”

“And there would’ve been a time when I would’ve been right. But now…well, things are different now, aren’t they?”

The warmth in her eyes when she looked at him was not what he expected. Neither did he expect the slight lean of her body as she reached to brush a feathery kiss across his cheek.

“Maybe you’re right,” she said, slipping away from him to reach for a dishtowel to dry her hands. When she was done, her fingers played with the terry’s edge, and when she spoke, there was no denying the solemnity in her voice.

“Sometimes I wish we’d never come to Sunnydale,” Joyce said softly. “That maybe if we’d stayed in LA, Buffy wouldn’t have been Chosen and she could’ve finished high school like any normal teenager.”

“Buffy was Chosen before---.”

“---we moved, I know. Still…I don’t really associate the slaying with what our lives were like before, so when I’m daydreaming, it’s easier to make the blanket assumption.”

He remained silent. He wasn’t sure why she was telling him this.

“Then…there are times like tonight. When I see her take charge of a situation, and I realize…she’s an amazing young woman. And I’m just so…proud that she’s mine, you know?”

This time, she glanced at him. Giles offered her a soft smile. “I understand exactly. But…that’s due in large part because of you.”

Joyce shook her head. “It’s because of all of us. Willow, and Xander, and you and me and Spike and even that Graham in a roundabout way. That’s when I decide that Sunnydale is probably the best thing to have ever happened. To either of us.” She tilted her head toward the doorway. “Willow’s in my room, so I think I’m just going to turn on AMC and curl up on the couch. Would you care to join me?”

He simply nodded and followed her from the room. In spite of the day’s nightmares, there was a small burn of contentment deep within his gut. Danger was far from gone, but in the strength of the people that surrounded him, Giles couldn’t help but believe that they’d be able to overcome it. They’d done so in the past. They would continue to do so.

* * *

They found the wankers, all right. In the end, it wasn’t even that hard. Spike and Oz followed the scent to the third floor, and then the rest of them stood back while Spike kicked the door in. He’d hesitated before attempting to cross the threshold, but knew within seconds that it didn’t matter whether or not this was actually somebody’s domicile.

The entire Council team was dead.

Wesley was the first to brush past him, heading straight for the plain square table at which two of the men were slumped. Deft fingers danced over pulse points, moving along to the next body with quiet speed. Spike thought it was a waste of time. He could’ve told the Watcher that none of their hearts were beating.

The two rooms had likely been an office at one point, but the Council team had equipped it as a temporary hideaway. The other door off the main room revealed a row of sleeping bags on the floor and a tiny cot in the corner. More bodies were in there, but while the bedding on the cot was mussed, the bed itself was empty.

There wasn’t a single living person in the entire place.

Esme wasn’t there either.

Graham looked over the dead bodies dispassionately. “I take it, this means the witch woke up,” he commented.

“Yeah,” said Oz. His eyes met Spike’s. Each man only had one thing on their minds, though the name was different in each.

“Buffy,” Spike breathed.

“And Willow.”

They were both running for the stairs before anyone else could say a word.


	53. In Dead Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XLIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Havi and Lydia are tailing Robin after he refused to leave with them right away, while Spike and the other have found the dead Council team but no Esme…

It helped that everybody in the house was asleep. Though she pulled on what little reserves she had to mask her presence, Esme was mildly relieved that she could relax her guard a tad as she moved silently around the Slayer’s kitchen, gathering what essentials she needed for her task. She was weary, and the less magic she expended, the longer she was going to last. It had taken a lot out of her when she’d killed the Council team, much more than she would’ve wanted, but it needed to be done if she didn’t want to end up under Quentin’s thumb. She didn’t plan on ever being under his control again.

Not a sound came from the rest of the house. The Watcher and the Slayer’s mother slept in the living room, while there were three answering heartbeats upstairs. Four, if she counted the baby, but since it wasn’t currently a threat to her, Esme didn’t take it into consideration. She just needed to be aware of where the Slayer’s friends were while she and Buffy had a small visit. Her window of opportunity was limited; she knew that it was only a matter of time before the Council team was found and her disappearance discovered.

She took the kettle off the burner before it could whistle and wake anybody up. Though she had made certain alterations to the spell to accommodate the circumstances, it was still essentially the same. It would serve its purpose to keep the Slayer out of the picture until the time came that Esme had the information she wanted. As soon as she had the location of the artifacts, the Slayer would become useful again. In the meantime, she had to be kept from messing everything up. Esme smiled. There was even a remote possibility Buffy would thank her for this little vacation. Stranger things had been known to happen.

Silently, she carried the tray up the stairs, affecting the glamour she would need in order to make this work. A very brief visit, she decided. She was too exhausted to do much more and still have the strength to leave afterward. She needed to rest if she wanted to be able to perform properly, and she needed it to be undisturbed by the Slayer and her friends. This was the only way she could think how.

* * *

The brief knock roused Buffy from her sleep. Blinking bleary-eyed at the door, she stifled a heavy yawn before calling out, “Come in.”

The door cracked open, and through the thick cloud of her half-awake state, Buffy watched Willow slip inside, shutting the light out from the hallway as quickly as she could. In her hands, she balanced a tray, and the warm scent that suddenly filled the room made Buffy’s mouth water.

“Did I wake you?” Willow asked.

Buffy heard rather than saw her approach the bed. Only outlines were visible in the dark room, and her grogginess did nothing to help in making things sharper. “What’s wrong?” she said instead of answering the question.

“Nothing, nothing.” Willow set the tray down on her nightstand. “I couldn’t sleep so I went downstairs and made myself some tea. Your mom thought it would be a good idea if I brought you some, too.”

“Tea?” As delicious as it smelled, Buffy shook her head. “I can’t. The caffeine---.”

“It’s herbal. Caffeine-free, so no danger to the baby.” Willow yawned widely. “It’s already working wonders on me.”

Buffy struggled to a sitting position as Willow picked up the mug and handed it to her. “Has anybody called?” she asked, taking the cup. The heat seeped into her palms, and she cradled it closer, leaning to breathe the tangy scent in more deeply. God, it smelled good. It was impossible not to take just a little sip, which slid so luxuriously down her throat that she immediately sipped some more.

“Nope. No news. Which is good news, right?”

The levity struck her as odd, but as Buffy finished the rest of the tea, she realized she didn’t have the strength to argue with Willow about the lack of reports. “Will you wake me up as soon as something happens?” she said, passing back the mug.

Willow’s smile gleamed white in the darkness. “Of course.”

Buffy was only barely aware of thin hands tucking the blanket back around her. Obviously, she’d been more tired than she’d thought, and as she rolled onto her side, curling her arm protectively around her stomach, she could’ve sworn she heard Willow whisper, “Sleep well, Slayer.”

* * *

The ringing of the telephone woke Joyce from her doze, and she opened her eyes to find her cheek resting on Rupert’s shoulder. Moving as carefully as she could not to wake him, she stood up and rushed to the kitchen, grabbing the receiver on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Summers? It’s Wesley. Are you all right?”

His voice was panicked and too loud, as if he was speaking up in order to be heard. In the background, she heard the sounds of traffic and realized he must be calling from Spike’s car.

“We’re all fine,” she replied. “Sleeping mostly. What’s wrong? Did you find Esme?”

There was a pause, with Spike’s baritone unintelligible in the background.

“Yes and no,” Wesley said. “We found where they’d been keeping her, but she was already gone.” Another pause. “She killed the Council. We fear she’s after Buffy and Willow next.”

Joyce was suddenly awake. “Oh, god,” she murmured. When Rupert appeared in the doorway, a frown on his face as he slipped his glasses back on, she waved him closer. “What can we do?”

“Frankly, not a lot---.”

A muttered curse came through the line, followed by a brief scuffle. Then…

“Joyce?” It was Spike. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him sound so scared. “Where’s Buffy?”

“In her room. Sleeping, I think.”

“Do me a favor. Go check on her. Make sure.”

“Hang on.” Covering the mouthpiece, she turned to Rupert. “Can you go upstairs and see if Willow and Buffy are all right?” she asked. He immediately turned on his heel, and she brought the phone back up to speak. “Rupert’s going. He’ll be right back. Where are you?”

“On our way back to the house. Oz and the soldier boy are right behind us. Has Studs checked back yet?”

“She called and spoke with Buffy earlier. From what I understood, she and Lydia were going to be following that Mr. Wood.”

“Get her on the horn and tell her to get her ass back to the house. Wood can wait. Right now, we need all the muscle we can get to make sure that bitch of a witch doesn’t get to Buffy or Red.”

Rupert came back into the kitchen, drawing Joyce’s focus once again. “They’re both sound asleep,” he said. “No signs of anything amiss.”

She relayed the information to Spike as quickly as she could. There was no denying the sigh of relief that came over the line.

“Once you’ve talked to Studs,” he said, “you and Rupes sit in with the girls. Make sure nobody else gets to them before we get back to the house. We should be another ten minutes unless the Watcher here starts complaining about me runnin’ the reds again.”

She agreed, but when she hung up the phone, anxiety was making her heart pound in her chest. It took all her control to find Havi’s cell number and make the call Spike had requested.

Rupert’s hand was warm where it came to rest on her shoulder. “Everything will be all right,” he soothed.

Nodding, Joyce followed him back up the stairs, parting at the appropriate bedroom doors. She left the door open, the light from the hall spilling into Buffy’s room to reveal her daughter curled up on her side, lashes dark against her pinked cheeks. Her eyes strayed to the swell of Buffy’s stomach, the way Buffy instinctively protected it with her body. It wouldn’t be that much longer before she fully understood the anxiety Joyce went through each and every time there was a threat to Buffy. Even now, knowing Spike and the others were on their way, it was difficult to suppress the fear that gripped her insides.

Joyce had no doubt that Buffy was going to be an excellent mother. She just prayed that she survived this ordeal in order to prove that.

* * *

“I think you’re making a mistake,” Lydia said. Her knuckles were white around the door handle as Havi careened through traffic, and she was fairly certain that if the other woman kept up this breakneck speed, Lydia was going to be sick all over her shoes. “We’re going to lose Robin if we go back.”

“We’re needed at the house.” Havi’s jaw was bone-white from how tightly she was clenching it. “And he already agreed to come see Buffy in the morning as it is. We have no choice but to trust that he’s a man of his word.”

Lydia didn’t bother replying. Ever since Mrs. Summers’ call, Havi had become increasingly frightening in her intensity. It would appear that any threat to Willow Rosenberg was enough to turn the woman into a machine.

“I don’t know what they expect us to do,” she said a few blocks later. “If Esme has her powers back, we’re going to be helpless in front of her. Going back is ensuring our deaths.”

“Going back is increasing our odds of success,” Havi shot back. The look she gave Lydia was withering. “You are the biggest coward I have ever known. I find it very hard to believe that you’ve come so far within the Council, even knowing how corrupt they can be.”

“I’m not a coward!”

“Really? Why then do you choose your side based on who you think will win?” Her flinty gaze returned to the road. “That is the mark of a coward, whether you choose to believe me or not.”

Stiffening in her seat, Lydia held her chin high. “I’ll have you know---.”

“I am done listening to you,” Havi interrupted. “If you speak again before we reach the Summers house, I’m going to push you out at the next stop and tell Buffy that you changed sides yet again. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to add you to the list of those she considers enemies.”

She held her tongue. There was no doubt in Lydia’s mind that Havi would do exactly as she promised. In fact, she was surprised the woman had volunteered to do it at a stop. With her violent tendencies, it seemed more appropriate to be pushed from a moving vehicle.

Frankly, Lydia would be surprised if she managed to get through this whole debacle alive. When it was over, she was going to retire from the Council and return to her studies. Books didn’t hold grudges.

* * *

For a while, Robin thought he was being followed. He’d blown off Lydia and the other girl to go meet with Maggie, but neither woman had looked pleased with his decision. Frankly, he’d believed it was them in the far distance as he navigated through the streets of Sunnydale toward the all-night diner out of town. But then the car had turned left when he’d gone straight and after a few more miles of not seeing it, Robin had dismissed it as paranoia. He was on edge because of everything. It made sense that he was seeing ghosts when there weren’t any.

Though he had no idea why Maggie chose such a remote location for them to meet, he didn’t question it. He’d been too eager to have an excuse not to see Buffy. What was he going to say to her? She wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say Spike, regardless of whether or not it was the truth, and if she was looking for a testimonial on how Slayers made the best moms, she was barking up the wrong Wood. He thought her child was a mistake any way she spun it, and he wasn’t about to pretend otherwise if she confronted him on the issue.

At least, he’d bought some time thanks to Maggie’s phone call. He might even consider asking her advice on what she thought he should say.

The diner’s lot was nearly deserted, and Wood pulled up to park next to Maggie’s car. Through the large windows, he could see her sitting in a corner booth, looking at something on the table in front of her. He glanced at his watch. He wasn’t late. How long had she been waiting for him?

She looked up as he approached the table, a warm smile creasing her features. The item that had been holding her attention was a plain manila folder. They were her favorite, she claimed, because they offered the gift of surprise. You never knew what it might contain. His stomach wrenched as he slid into the seat opposite her. So far, he did not like the way this was looking.

“I’m sorry about calling you so late,” she said, the smile never leaving her face.

He tried not to frown. “You said it was important.”

“It is.” She slid the folder closer to him. “We’ve found the artifacts.”

Robin stilled. He’d known about Maggie’s interest in Slayers when she had asked him to be her assistant, and she’d been forthcoming about why she needed Buffy on her team. These mysterious artifacts she’d talked about could only be wielded by a Slayer, and the power they promised was too much not to have on the Initiative’s side. But she’d never gone into specific detail, and after he’d backed off on trying to recruit Buffy, he’d thought the matter was over and done with. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

“That’s unexpected,” he said, his tone cautious. “The last I remember, you didn’t anticipate finding them until the spring.”

“I was being conservative. I didn’t want to get my hopes up in case we were wrong.” She tapped the folder. “If you ever had a question, there’ll be an answer in there. What we’re looking for, what they’re supposed to do. I thought it was about time I stopped being so stingy with the information.”

She smiled, but Robin wasn’t impressed with her attempt at levity. Neither did he take the offered folder.

“What’s this have to do with me?” he asked. “I’m not on your Slayer project any more.”

“Technically, there isn’t a Slayer project any more,” Maggie corrected. She sat back when the waitress approached, only leaning forward again when they’d both ordered coffee. “Aren’t you in the slightest bit curious? You worked all semester trying to get to know Buffy Summers better, just for this. Don’t tell me you don’t want to know it was all for.”

He hated that she knew him so well. Holding her gaze for a long moment, Robin finally sighed and picked up the folder. “Where did you end up finding them?” he asked as he began to scan the report.

“Outside the city limits. There’s a whole catacomb of underground caverns around here. The artifacts are located near some sort of well.”

“Wait. Don’t you _have_ the artifacts already?”

For the first time since his arrival, Maggie’s smile faltered. “Well, no, not exactly. That was part of what we needed Buffy Summers for.” She paused, her gaze calculating. “That’s actually why I asked you here tonight.”

Closing the folder again, he pushed it back toward her. “I already told you. I’m not helping you get Buffy. She’s---.”

“I don’t want Buffy. I want you.”

To say he was surprised was an understatement. “For what? You told me you needed a Slayer.”

Maggie had the good grace to look mildly abashed. “A Slayer would be ideal, yes. But, _technically_ , the artifacts can be retrieved by someone of Slayer blood. I never even considered the possibility of a relative of a Slayer attempting to get them out, let alone use them.”

“Maybe because the possibility is ridiculous. I’m not some superhero, Chosen to save the world.”

“No, your mother was.” She leaned forward, suddenly intense again. “But just think about it, Robin. All that power at your fingertips? Think of all the good you could accomplish. How many HST’s you could destroy. Can you seriously tell me that that doesn’t excite you even a little bit?”

He wanted to say no. He wanted to be able to stand up, tell Maggie that she was crazy, and walk away from Sunnydale, once and for all. He’d come with such high expectations, but finding Spike and being confronted with Buffy’s pregnancy on a near daily basis had tarnished them. That didn’t even take into consideration the complications added with Esme and Mr. Travers. If he had any sense at all, he’d pack his things and head back to New York.

The only thing was…Maggie was right. The possibility of having even a fraction of the power his mother had was tempting.

Slowly, he stretched his fingers until they touched the edge of the folder, drawing it back toward him. “You never told me what the artifacts are supposed to do,” he said, keeping his tone neutral.

She seemed pleased with his response, even if it didn’t definitively confirm her assertions. “Well, one of them is most definitely a weapon. A scythe. Presumed to be about five feet long and capable of incredible destruction. Our sources suggest that it contains the essence of Slayer power.”

Robin frowned. Thumbing through the pages of the report, he stopped at the sketch done of the scythe. “How is that possible?”

“We don’t know. That’s something we’ll have to determine after you retrieve it.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet, Maggie.”

“Operative word…yet.”

The waitress arrived with their coffee, and the pair lapsed into silence as he continued to peruse the report. It wasn’t just a scythe they wanted. Supposedly, there were two other artifacts, a staff and some sort of box. The information they had on those was even sketchier than what they had for the scythe, though, which meant they had damn little. If he didn’t know Maggie so well, he’d almost be amused at how obsessed she’d gotten over so little.

“Don’t make up your mind now,” she said, breaking the silence. “Take the report home. Read it. Think it over. I don’t want you to do anything that’s going to make you uncomfortable.”

He almost laughed. He was surprised Maggie could say the last with a straight face.

It didn’t mean, however, that he wasn’t going to do exactly as she said.

* * *

Not even hearing Joyce’s smooth assurances that Buffy was fine could temper Spike’s anxiety as he pulled the Thunderbird into Revello Drive. The only good thing that came from the trip back to the house was the fact that the Watcher had kept his gob shut for most of the ride. Spike was fairly sure that if Wesley had said even one wrong thing, he’d’ve tossed him out on his ear.

He’d barely killed the motor before leaping from the car and dashing inside. The door slammed open from the force of his shove, and he was taking the stairs two at a time before it had even hit the wall. All around him was silence, but the soft heartbeats of his Slayer and little one called him just as assuredly as if they’d screamed.

Spike skidded to a halt at the open door of the bedroom. Joyce sat in a chair by the bed, but it was the sight of Buffy curled up on her side, her cheeks faintly pink from sleep, that finally began to quell some of the fear coursing through his veins. She was alive, breathing strong, dreaming as well, if the flickering behind her eyelids was anything to go by. The baby’s heartbeat was still steady as ever, too.

He sagged against the jamb. “Thank you,” he murmured to nobody in particular. Behind him, another door opened, and he glanced back to see Giles and a sleepy Willow standing at the mouth of Joyce’s room.

“What’s going on?” Willow asked.

“We gotta get you and Buffy out of here,” Spike said. “Esme’s awake and scarpered off.”

Her eyes widened. “Well…maybe she doesn’t care about me and Buffy any more. Maybe---.”

“And maybe she’s offed the entire Council team without blinking an eyelash,” Spike finished. “Pack it up. We’re going.”

“Perhaps running isn’t our best course of action,” Giles suggested.

“It’s not runnin’. It’s hidin’. Big difference, Rupes.”

“But Esme will still find us, won’t she?” Willow’s voice was still tight with fear. “She’s got the mojo back now. What’s going to stop her from finding us someplace else?”

He hated that she had a point, but everything in Spike was screaming to get out of the house. It wasn’t safe, not with Esme out there and unaccounted for.

“Willow and I can put up some sort of magical defense,” Giles was saying. “It might not be enough to keep Esme out, but it could slow her down so that we have advance warning of her attack.”

Looking at Red told Spike that she didn’t seem to think she could, but she held her tongue anyway. Truth be told, he had no clue where he could take Buffy to keep her out of Esme’s way. If nothing else, this might buy them a little time to figure out a plan.

“All right,” he conceded. “We’ll stay put. For now. But we should wake up Buffy so that she knows what’s goin’ on. If we need to leave at a moment’s notice, she’s goin’ to need to be alert enough to do it.”

“I’ll wake her,” Joyce offered. “The rest of you can start…doing whatever it is you need to do.”

Spike nodded. It was the best they could presently hope for.

* * *

The trio was halfway down the stairs when Joyce called out to them. Not surprisingly, Spike was the first to reach her side.

“Something’s wrong,” she said. Her eyes were wide, jumping from him to Giles to Willow. “Buffy won’t wake up.”

Willow hung back as Spike darted to the bed, bending over Buffy to start murmuring soft words she was sure weren’t meant for anybody else’s ears. When Buffy didn’t react, he scooped her up in his arms, slapping her cheeks lightly.

Still, there was no response.

“Call the hospital,” he barked at Joyce. “I’m takin’ her in.”

Willow took Joyce’s place in the doorway when the older woman rushed downstairs. As she watched Spike carefully pick Buffy up, her gaze strayed to the empty cup on the nightstand. That’s when she noticed the familiar scent in the air.

“Oh, god,” she breathed.

Spike immediately perked up. “What? What is it?”

Willow didn’t answer. Hurrying to the nightstand, she picked up the cup and lifted it to her nose, inhaling the smell that lingered inside. There was something about it that was slightly different, but the similarity was too close just to ignore.

She turned nervously toward Spike. “I don’t think we have to worry too much about Esme showing up any time soon,” she said.

“What? Why?”

“Because I think she’s already been here.” She glanced at Buffy’s face, so peaceful in her sleep. “And I think there’s a chance…Buffy’s not.”

* * *

It was the sky dreams were made of, brilliant and blue with no variations in shade, not a speck of cirrus to mar its crystalline perfection. She was in the middle of a park, rolling greens broken by trees that were all too familiar, their oddly shaped leaves flowering in irregular clusters against the sky. The path on which she stood wound like a silver ribbon through the grass, the finely crushed stone almost like sand beneath her shoes, and the bed of daisies and deep-purple clematis that snaked alongside leant the air a perfume that felt surprisingly like home. A stone bench several yards ahead beckoned to her, asking her to come, but she didn’t move, couldn’t move, frozen in place as she gazed at the world around her.

This time, she didn’t wear a sundress and sandals. This time, a long, tiered skirt flowed around her legs, the elasticated waistband yielding to her swollen stomach, and her arms were bare in a tunic that draped easily over her hips. She wasn’t entirely sure what was on her feet, mainly because she couldn’t see them, but in the long run, she knew it didn’t matter anyway. What mattered was that she was now standing in a place she’d thought she would never see again, _shouldn’t_ have seen again. Even worse, she was alone.

Every other time she’d been here, William had been here, too. The fact that she couldn’t see him anywhere, no matter which direction she turned, could not be good.

“Oh, crap,” Buffy muttered.


	54. Our Brains Beguiled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LIX.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Maggie’s officially asked Robin for his help in retrieving the Slayer artifacts, while Esme has shown up at the Summers house and had Buffy drink the magical tea, which unfortunately has the side effect of her not waking up…

They were congregated in the kitchen, too many bodies taut with worry and fear pressed into a space that was supposed to be about warmth and family. Individual rhythms pounded against Spike’s eardrums, blocking out the hearts he would much rather have listened to, but all he could do was stare at the various items scattered across the counter.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me!” he exclaimed. “It’s not so bad that the bitch got in here without a one of you even noticing, but she was here long enough to make a pot of bloody _tea_? What the hell were you people doin’?”

The women had the good grace to look embarrassed, but Xander and Giles bristled at the attack.

“Have you forgotten about blind man walking here?” Xander said. “ _And_ I was asleep. No way is any of this my fault.”

Spike glared at him. “You’ve got a nose, don’t you? And ears? Ever thought of puttin’ those to use, Harris?”

“Esme’s very powerful,” Wesley intervened. “She could’ve used any number of tricks to mask her presence.”

“How they can bloody sleep---.”

“Enough.” The edge in Giles’ voice only tightened the wrought nerves. “Suffice it to say, we’re very well aware that we’ve failed Buffy in this regard. What we must do now is rectify it.”

Willow began picking through the ingredients. “What I don’t get is how she got Buffy to drink it,” she said. “Buffy’s been careful ever since last summer. And she knew Esme was out there as a potential threat.”

“There’s no evidence of a struggle, so I’d assume Esme utilized some sort of glamour to fool Buffy. Impersonating one of us, most likely.” Giles frowned as he picked up a bottle and reads its label. “Are we certain that it wasn’t some other potion she gave Buffy? I don’t remember seeing this at the flat last summer, Willow.”

“That’s because you didn’t. I’m not sure what she was trying to do with that.”

“All right, I’m confused.” A small line appeared between Joyce’s brows, and she took a moment to gather her thoughts before speaking again. “I thought both Buffy and Spike drank the tea. That _that_ was how they were able to meet in the first place. In those dreams.”

Spike came up short where he’d been pacing. “That’s right,” he said carefully. He cocked his head as he searched his memory. “And other than what happened to us last summer, I don’t remember ever seein’ Buffy again when I was human. Or any more dreams since, for that matter.”

“Maybe this is something else then,” Oz suggested.

Willow shook her head. “This smells almost exactly like the tea I made for Buffy. There’s only that one ingredient that looks to be different.”

“That is something to consider, though,” Giles said. “Without Spike consuming the tea, there’s no way Buffy could be transported back in time. There’s nothing to call her there.”

“There’s still the park,” Spike offered. At Joyce’s frown, he added, “Where we went during the dreams. Before Buffy came back in the flesh. But even then, there were two of us drinking. And she woke up from those all right.”

“Eventually,” Willow muttered.

“If it’s a tea for two, we don’t have anything to worry about,” Xander said. “There’s nobody else to drink it to make the magic work.”

“Yes, there is,” Oz offered. All eyes turned to him. “The baby.”

Understanding almost visibly rippled through the group.

“Of course,” Giles murmured. “What’s consumed by the mother is passed along to the fetus.”

“So instead of a crack baby, you got a tea baby. Doesn’t quite have the same ring to it.”

“Shut it, Harris.”

Willow was growing excited with this new revelation. “And since Schmoo is just as much a part of Spike as it is of Buffy, it provides the closure the spell needs.”

“But the baby is still here,” Joyce argued. “Buffy’s still pregnant.”

“Which means that we’re fortunate in that Buffy hasn’t time traveled again,” Giles said.

Spike nodded. “She’s dreaming of the park. And I’ll give you odds that that new ingredient is the reason we can’t wake her up.”

“But why would this Esme just put Buffy to sleep?”

“It’s very likely a stalling tactic,” Giles explained to Joyce. “She had to expend a great deal of energy to kill the Council’s team.”

“And when I first got the magical booster,” Willow chimed in, “I was wonky for days. Esme’s old. Her turnaround time isn’t going to be great. She probably did this to keep Buffy out of the picture until she’s back to full strength.”

“How long could that take, Red?”

She shrugged. “She woke up after only a few hours. There’s no way for us to tell.”

“That means you have to wake Buffy up _now_.” When Giles and Willow exchanged a worried look, Spike stiffened. “Don’t tell me you can’t do it,” he said. “You brought her back last summer. You can do it again.”

“It might not be that simple---.”

He whirled and started heading for the stairs, not wanting to listen to any more of the Watcher’s excuses. “Then you make it simple,” Spike snapped.

He drew up short when Havi appeared in the doorway, blocking his path. Lydia hovering just behind her made him clench his hands into fists, shoving them into his pockets before he did something Buffy would regret.

Havi’s gaze jumped around, taking in the pale faces and worried expressions. “What happened?” she demanded.

With a careful glance at Spike, Willow explained the situation. He only heard half of it, lost in memories of his own time in the mystical park. While he was worried about their inability to snap Buffy out of this tea-induced sleep, part of Spike was jealous that she had the opportunity to go back. Those hours had been some of the best of both his human and vampire lives. Peaceful. Joyous. He would give almost anything to get even a few more stolen minutes with her there.

“If Esme could breach your security here,” Havi said when she was done, “then Willow and Buffy must not stay.”

“Thank you!” Spike exclaimed. It was about time someone saw a bit of reason, even if it was Havi. “Good to know not everybody’s so thick to see what needs to be done.”

“We considered that,” Giles said, ignoring Spike’s outburst. “But, really, where would we take them? Esme can just as easily walk into a hotel as she can here. There’s no point in weakening our position unnecessarily.”

Havi grew silent for a moment, her eyes dark with contemplation. “There _is_ one place she could not go,” she said. “The Well.”

The suggestion made Willow’s eyes light up. “Oh! That could work! It’s hallowed ground. No Esmes allowed.”

“Who _would_ be allowed?” Joyce asked.

“Myself, Willow, and Buffy,” Havi explained. “If Buffy is asleep, I will need help transporting her, but once she’s there, there is no way Esme can come into close proximity to her again. Not until she leaves.”

Spike’s gaze was calculating. “Didn’t you say this Well was underground? You have to climb down in order to get to it, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“So tell me how you manage to get a pregnant, unconscious Slayer down the rabbit hole without dropping her on her head.” He was shaking his head before she could answer. “Can’t be done.”

“Hold on,” Xander said. “Maybe it’s not that bad.” He turned in Havi’s direction. “How far down would you have to carry her? Five feet? Ten?”

“Twenty.” She paused. “Meters.”

The room exploded with noise, arguments being tossed back and forth about the few choices they had. Someone’s suggestion that Willow teleport Buffy had the young witch spluttering in protest and turning bright red, while others began bandying about alternatives to the Well as a potential hideaway. Only Graham and Lydia remained silent during the discussions.

“There’s only one way to get Buffy to the Well in one piece,” Spike cut in. “I take her.”

“Unacceptable.” Though there had been moments when it had seemed that he and Havi might be coming to an understanding about this situation, she was now cold and stiff at his suggestion. “Your presence will defile what the Well embodies. Vampires are---.”

“Good enough for Buffy,” he finished. “But look around you, Studs. Do you see anybody else in this room who can do the deed? No. There’s just me.”

“I can do it.”

It took all of Spike’s control not to growl at the soldier, and his eyes were like ice when he swung them in Graham’s direction. “Nobody asked you, mate.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Havi said. “Neither of you may come. It is prohibited.”

“Perhaps the Guardians would be willing to make an exception,” Wesley said. “These are extenuating circumstances, and they’re more than aware that Esme is a tangible threat. After all, they’ve dealt with her before. Wouldn’t it be possible to strike some sort of negotiation with them? Because, really, I believe the Well is our best means to keep Buffy and Willow safe until Esme is neutralized.”

Everybody waited expectantly as Havi contemplated the proposal. She finally gave them a brief nod.

“I will try,” she said. “But I make no promises about what they might say.”

“That’s settled, then,” Giles said. “Willow, Wesley, and I will attempt to recreate the tea Buffy drank so that we can determine how to break its effect, while the rest of you stand guard against any other attacks.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Spike muttered.

“I thought we’d already decided Esme was out sleeping all this off,” Xander joked.

Spike didn’t stick around after that. He just wanted to try one last time to wake Buffy.

* * *

Everything looked exactly as she remembered it.

The stone path that wound its way through the closely shorn grass beckoned her to follow, tempted her to explore even though she knew already what she would find.

There was the bench upon which William had written his poetry.

And there was the small hill where they’d first kissed.

And over its crest was the small pond she’d dipped her feet in while he read her some of his poetry.

If she closed her eyes, she could still feel the warm caress of his fingertips along her arm. How he’d trembled the first time they’d made love. Hear his whispered confessions, desperate and lonely and oh so earnest.

But she didn’t. Because back in Sunnydale, she had Spike. Who was harder, cooler to the touch, more cynical than the poet who’d first stolen her heart. He was just as devoted, though. Just as passionate. And beneath the mask he wore was the spirit of the same lonely young man. Everything he did sprang from that. He was a creature hungry for acceptance but wary of the pain that it evoked. She liked to think that being in Sunnydale with her was starting to break through that, but Buffy wasn’t so foolish not to realize that he still had a long ways to go.

And she would be there every step of the way. Because she loved him.

And right now, she was missing him like hell.

With a heavy sigh, Buffy returned to the stone bench and sat down. The park was just as beautiful as it had been the first time, but without company, boredom was already starting to creep in and threaten her with its deceptive calm. She really hoped she woke up soon. Maybe something would attack the house and force Spike or Willow or her mom to come and get her. She could only be so lucky.

Her hand fell to her stomach, caressing the firm swell. “Looks like it’s just you and me, Schmoo,” she said. The baby kicked back in response, drawing a smile to Buffy’s face. “You just better not get any stupid ideas about showing up before I get the hell out of here. That would be too weird, even for Sunnydale.”

Carefully, she stretched out on the bench, letting the heat prickle along her exposed skin. “Oh, look, I’m wearing flats,” she observed when she spied her feet for the first time since arriving. She lifted her leg in order to inspect them closer. “Cute.”

But the fashion commentary only served to distract her for a few minutes. All too soon, the boredom had returned and Buffy was left staring at the blue along the horizon, her fingers absently stroking along her tummy.

“Remind me never to drink tea again,” she said to nobody in particular.

She had a feeling it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

Maggie got the call as she was driving home.

“I know it’s late,” the soldier said. “But you asked to be kept updated on the dig, especially if something unusual happened.”

Her left hand tightened around the wheel. “Unusual?”

“We’ve got two men in the infirmary. Unconscious. Docs don’t know why or how or even if they’re going to wake up.”

“What happened?”

“We don’t know. We’d just broken through to the tunnels we told you about. Holt started climbing through, screamed, and then Rodriguez stuck his head through to see what the matter was. The next thing we knew, they were both out cold. We had to drag them back through the hole to get them out of there.”

Maggie’s stomach knotted. “Did anybody else try entering the tunnels?” she asked.

“No. Your orders specifically said to retreat if anything unusual happened.” There was noise in the background, and Maggie listened as the soldier spoke with someone who’d obviously just entered. When he returned to the line, his voice was grim. “I’ve just been informed that Holt is dead, ma’am. He flat-lined without waking up.”

It was just as Maggie had feared, but she kept her voice markedly neutral as she spoke. “Send a team to temporarily block the entrance to the tunnels,” she said. “I want it possible for a single man to be able to move it out of the way, but I don’t want it obvious should somebody accidentally stumble across our dig.” She was about to disconnect when she thought of something else. “And make sure nobody else tries to enter the tunnels. I don’t want to lose any more men on this.”

Tossing the phone to the passenger seat, Maggie eased her foot off the gas as she considered the ramifications of this latest development. She’d suspected there would be some sort of protection set up around the artifacts, and this was now proof. The only person who was going to be able to get into the tunnels to retrieve them was going to be Robin.

She just had to keep her fingers crossed that he would agree to help her.

* * *

Spike had taken sentry point on the upper story of the house. “Unless you want to give jumping from a second floor window a go,” he’d taunted Harris. “Might be funny.”

Nobody had questioned the wisdom of that choice. Graham and Oz split the front and back porches, while Xander tried not to get in anybody’s way. Spike didn’t expect a lot to happen, but at least his post gave him the opportunity to keep a close eye on Buffy. The second anything changed with her, he wanted to be the first one at her side.

He turned his head when he heard Red’s light step on the stairs. Though still pale and fatigued, she was looking better than she had earlier. Having purpose seemed to be doing the trick.

“Any change?” she whispered, though the tone of her voice told him she had little hope he’d answer in the affirmative.

Spike shook his head. “How’s it goin’ with the gallopin’ gourmets? Any luck makin’ up the tea?”

“We think so.” She waved the piece of paper in her hand. “I thought I’d try the incantation I used on you last summer with Buffy before we start messing with other spells. We might get lucky and wake her up on the first shot.”

He was blocking the doorway to the bedroom before she could move. “Is this that same spell that made me feel like I was about ready to burst into flame?” he quizzed, his eyes narrowing.

“Well, yeah, but---.”

“Do you have any idea what this is goin’ to do to the little one? Or are you lot just keepin’ your fingers crossed you don’t muck it up?” Just as he’d jumped on Havi earlier, Spike kept on talking, refusing to give Willow the chance to answer. “If you think I’m goin’ to let you use Buffy as some sort of guinea pig while you try to get this hocus pocus right, you don’t know me at all, Red.”

She clearly wanted to argue, but Joyce’s sudden presence on the stairs behind her kept her from doing so.

“Is Spike right?” Joyce asked. “Could this be harmful to Buffy?”

Willow’s gaze jumped between the pair, her shoulders slumping. “We don’t know,” she admitted. “I really want to say it won’t hurt her at all, but with the pregnancy, I can’t be sure of that.”

“So you need to test it to make sure,” Spike said. “Which means I’m the vamp for the job.”

“What?” The suggestion shocked Red. “No! What about all that ‘nobody’s as strong as me’ stuff you were spouting downstairs? We need you here, Spike.”

“All the more incentive to do this quick, then.” With a firm step, he pushed past her and started heading downstairs. There was no way he was going to take no for an answer on this, not with her concession that it could hurt Buffy or the little one. Red had said there was tea already made up; if they weren’t going to give it to him willingly, he’d just have to nick it and drink it down before they could stop him.

* * *

When she fell the last few feet and landed hard on her hip at the bottom of the chasm, Havi began to think that just maybe Spike had a point. She was exhausted, pushed nearly to her breaking limits, and if she couldn’t make the climb down to the well on her own, she didn’t know how she was going to do with it the dead weight of the Slayer over her shoulder. She was going to need help. There was no question of that now.

She took a moment for the pain in her hip to ebb. Sweat stung her eyes, and when she wiped it away, her hand came back with a streak of red along its heel. Reaching tentatively, she found the scratch that was still bleeding on her forehead and held her fingers there until the flow had stopped. Yet more proof she would need aid, Havi thought as she wiped her hand on her trousers. The Guardians couldn’t ignore the extent of her injuries just on a simple climb.

Carefully, Havi stepped through the carved-out cavern that led to the Well’s inner chamber. More than once, she stumbled, catching herself on the smooth walls before she could fall. By the time she reached the circular room, she was so battered and bruised that she felt like she was going to collapse.

Her chant at the water’s side was barely loud enough to be heard. It took only moments for the Well to come to life, the surface rippling, lapping against the side to spill out the occasional drop.

“This is unexpected, Child of Life,” came the chiming voice. As every other time, it emanated from the water’s surface, reaching out into the chamber to hold and caress Havi with its power. “You are unwell?”

“I am tired,” she confessed. “My strength is not as it should be.”

“This is the effect of Willow’s resurrection.”

“This, and more.” As briefly as she could manage, Havi detailed the events of the day, chronicling just what Willow’s death meant for their nemesis. The air grew heavier with each detail she gave them, until by the time she was done, it felt as worn as she did.

“This is…regrettable,” the Guardian’s voice said. “We were not aware that Rose’s work could be undone by such a simple stroke.”

“Neither did we,” Havi said. “And now Esme has turned her attention back to the Slayer. It’s only a matter of time before she returns to finish what she has started.”

“She is gathering strength. She will not wish to fail at her task again.”

She paused. Rose had spoken to her a little about what Esme’s intent had been, but other than generalities, Havi knew no more than the others. “I do not understand what Esme can hope to gain from the artifacts,” she said cautiously. “Buffy would never willingly help her, so how can she hope to use them for any personal gain?”

The water grew more agitated, and Havi began to fear that she’d overstepped her bounds in asking the question. It wasn’t her place, but so much time spent with Xander and the others had her reconsidering the utility of following so blindly. She had yet to decide if that was a good thing or not.

“Esme wishes to thwart death,” the Guardians finally said. “She believes the artifacts will help her with that.”

“And will they?”

The voice sighed. “You are not here to seek answers to Esme’s motivations, are you, Child of Life? If you come with this purpose, you will be disappointed.”

“I come to ask for your help in protecting Willow and the Slayer.” There was no more time to be wasted on finding answers the Guardians weren’t going to give. She had to focus on what she’d promised the others. “Since she sleeps, the Slayer is unable to protect herself. I wish to bring her and Willow here until she awakens or Esme is defeated.”

The air grew hesitant. “You do not need our help in such a matter, Child. We would welcome both. You know this.”

“I do.” Havi took a deep breath. “But in Buffy’s current state, I would be unable to bring her directly to you without help. I could not come myself without getting hurt. I would be unwilling to risk hurting the Slayer unnecessarily.”

“A simple teleportation spell will work. Willow knows this.”

“Yes, but without the magic she used to have at her disposal, Willow is unwilling to take the risk.”

“What is it you ask of us, then?”

Here goes nothing, Havi thought.

“To allow someone else to come to the Well. Someone who could help me with Buffy.”

“No.” No hesitation in the response, though at least, they didn’t sound angry with her for making the request in the first place. “You know the rules, Child. Only those of Slayer blood or within the Guardians circle may come to the Well uninvited.”

“I know, but---.”

“There will be no argument. On this, we are firm.”

She’d promised the others that she would ask, and when she’d made the promise, Havi had thought she was just going through the motions. Now, however, she knew she had to fight for this.

“Esme will return for the Slayer,” she said, rising to her feet. “Without your intercession, Willow and Buffy will be unable to stop her. You cannot allow that to happen. Why else would you bring Willow back from the dead? I know you must still wish her to join the Guardians’ ranks, even if she doesn’t have the full force of Esme’s powers. But she can’t do that if Esme is allowed to exact whatever revenge she has in mind for them. For that, they must be safe.”

“We agree. The Well is the ideal place for the Slayer and Willow to recuperate. But you will not bring anyone else here for that to happen.”

“Then how---?”

The words were choked in her throat as the light from the water grew blinding, and Havi took a step away, lifting her arm to shield her eyes from the brilliance. It bled around her flesh, forcing her to squint in order to see, and when it disappeared almost as quickly as it had come on, she was left with spots dancing in her vision.

It took a few moments of steady blinking to get them to stop. When they did, she was fairly certain her sight was still impaired.

Willow stood on the far side of the well, looking around the chamber in confusion. At her feet, Buffy was curled onto her side, fast asleep, just as she’d been when Havi had last seen her at the Summers home. But it was the other body, the one not breathing with the fading injuries from his fights earlier that day, that gave her pause.

Willow brightened when she spotted Havi, but when her gaze followed Havi’s to Spike on the packed floor, her eyes went wide. “Oh…” she breathed, her head snapping back to Havi. “That’s not good, is it?”


	55. Minion of Her Pleasure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXXVI.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Havi went to the Well to get their permission for aid in getting Willow and Buffy there, but when the Guardians teleport the girls themselves, Spike shows up as well…

She felt like she was going to throw up, but Willow knew that was just as much a part of the surprise teleportation as it was from everything else. However, seeing the fear suddenly spring into Havi’s face at the sight of the unconscious Spike at her feet was nothing compared to the roar of the water in the Well behind her.

“Abomination!” the voice of the Guardians hissed. It seemed to come from both the water and all around her, everywhere and nowhere all at once. No more nice guy like they’d been during her first visit, Willow realized. As the water in the Well began to bubble and surge, she knew nice was the last thing on their mind.

“You’re the one who brought him here!” she called out, stepping up to stand in front of his prone form. She didn’t really think it would do any good in the way of protecting him, but it made her feel like she was at least doing something.

“No,” the voice replied. “We complied with the Child of Life’s wishes and brought you and the Slayer. Having the demon in our presence is blasphemy to everything we represent.”

“They are right.” Havi was pale and rigid, dark eyes darting from the Well to Spike as if she was unsure about what she might have to do. “I made the request for leniency as I said I would, and I was denied. They were very firm on this.”

“Obviously, not firm enough.” Willow crossed her arms over her chest, displaying more bravado than she actually felt. “What? You think _I_ had something to do with this? All my juice has been poured into fixing this tea thing. You _know_ I’m not up to any teleportation spells.”

“It was not our desire to bring the vampire,” the voice said.

“Well, maybe you should’ve taken a sec and _asked_ before picking us all up. Because if you _had_ , you would’ve found out that Spike had already drunk some of the tea.”

“Oh.” Havi’s eyes went wide with understanding. “He dreams, then. With Buffy.”

Willow sighed in relief. “Exactly. He wasn’t going to let us test our rise and shine spells on Buffy, so he drank some of the tea before any of us could stop him. Their psyches are linked now.”

“You must separate them,” the Guardians ordered. “His presence---.”

“Blasphemy, yeah, I got it the first couple of times you gurgled it at me.” Taking a step closer to the Well, Willow gazed through the roiling surface, trying to find something, or someone, to address directly. “It’s not as easy as it sounds. Without knowing Esme’s spell, we’re flying blind here. The original incantation I used last summer on Spike didn’t work. Giles, Wes, and I were working on variations to start testing before you zapped me out of there.” She glanced back to Havi. “You do know they’re probably freaking out, don’t you? They’re going to think that Esme got us.”

Havi shook her head. “That is not good.”

“You’re going to have to go and tell them we’re safe,” Willow continued.

“And you must take the vampire with you,” the voice added.

“I can’t.” Havi stepped up to Willow’s side to address the Well. “I could barely climb down on my own. I would never be able to get out again with him on my back. He will have to stay until Willow is able to wake him.”

The way the water continued to bubble and churn told Willow all she needed to know about how much the Guardians didn’t like that idea. Leaning toward Havi, she whispered, “What happens to people who aren’t supposed to be here?”

“They die.”

That’s what she’d been afraid of. “You’re going to have to zap Buffy and Spike back then,” she said, this time to the Guardians. “Nothing can happen to Spike---.”

“Nothing will.” If it was possible for water to sigh, it did, a sound weary and disgruntled that filled the cavern. “He is here of our power, our…invitation, as inadvertent as it was. No harm will befall him under those circumstances.”

“Oh.” Some of her fear dissipated. “Well, then, that’s OK. Except for, you know, the not being OK part because of him being a vampire.” She caught Havi by the arm before the other woman could leave. “What’s going to happen to him?” she asked. “He’s not messing up some karmic thing by being here, is he?”

“I don’t know,” Havi admitted.

“And Schmoo?”

“The baby is of Slayer blood. It is welcome, just as Buffy is.”

“Good.” Willow’s eyes fell to the sleeping blonds. “After everything…I’d hate for anything to happen. Buffy and Spike are so in love with Schmoo already that I think it’d kill them if it got hurt at this point.”

Havi only nodded in agreement. As she left the cavern, the waters stilled within the Well, leaving Willow to her now booming thoughts. Maybe it was a good thing Spike was here, she reasoned as she sat down and got comfortable. This way, he was safe as well. And he and Buffy could enjoy their few stolen moments of peace together.

* * *

He knew the moment he opened his eyes that he should go look for Buffy. But the heat of the sun overhead and the flush of perspiration along his skin made Spike pause, throw his head back, squint up at the sun with wonder usually reserved for the little one. This was unexpected. He’d swallowed the tea not really thinking about what visiting the dream park as a vampire would mean. He could never have anticipated that he’d be allowed to walk around under the sun like a man, to breathe and sweat and everything else that came with the human package. It seemed wrong not to take a few seconds and enjoy it.

When he finally started walking down the stone path, he noticed his clothes. The white shirt and old-fashioned trousers were near duplicates of his costume the first time around, but when he reached a hand to his head, he could tell that it was his twentieth century hair, minus the gel to straighten the curls. How would Buffy take the new look? he mused. Would she see William or Spike?

He spotted her first, rounding the bend in the path to see her stretched out on the stone bench. With her hair flowing over the edge, trailing along the ground, she stared up into the cloudless sky, absently playing catch with one of her shoes. His mouth curled into a smile. She looked absolutely radiant.

The crunch of the pebbles beneath his boots drifted to Buffy, and she turned her head to see who was approaching. Her eyes immediately lit up as she called out, “Spike!”

He chuckled as she struggled to sit up, reaching her side in time to slide a hand beneath her elbow and assist her in standing. Her arms went around his neck in a powerful hug, and he lowered his nose to her hair as he held her in return.

“You have no idea how glad I am you’re here,” she said against his shirt. “I was going out of my mind---.” She stopped, pulling away to look up at him with a frown. “Did Esme fool you, too? Is that why you’re here?”

Spike shook his head. “Volunteered for this, pet. I didn’t want Red mucking about with the mojo if she wasn’t sure how it was goin’ to affect you.”

“Why would Willow be messing with magic? I’m just asleep.”

“Not exactly.” Her eyes grew ever wider as he told her was happening back at the house, and then saw the line of her lips thin as anger replaced her surprise.

“I’m starting to think killing is too good for Esme,” she said when he was done. “Our lives would just be _so_ much easier if she’d never shown up in the first place.”

Though he knew she was just furious at their situation, it still stung that she’d be so quick to wish everything they had away. Hormones and frustration, he had to remind himself, but some of his ill temper must have shown on his face.

“I meant this last time in Sunnydale,” she said with a small smile. “You really think I’d want to have a life without you or Schmoo in it?”

He kissed her before he could stop himself, hands splayed flat against her back as he got lost in the heat of their bodies. When they broke away, she pressed her palm against his chest, over his now-beating heart.

“I’d forgotten…” Buffy murmured.

Slowly, Spike covered her hand with his. “Do you miss it?”

Her eyes were bright with more than delight in seeing him. “The only thing I miss is having uninterrupted time with you,” she said.

He kissed her again. There was no telling how long it was going to take Red and the Watchers to find the right spell. He might as well make this little reprieve worth every second.

* * *

It was impossible to sleep. Every time he rolled over, Maggie’s words came back into sharper clarity, so smooth, so promising, the answer to everything, it would almost seem. There had to be a catch---there was always a catch---but for the life of him, Robin couldn’t find it. All he could see was the allure of finally being able to make a difference. _It’s all about the mission_ , his mother used to say. Maybe he could make her life mean a little bit more by taking up the mission more directly.

The phone was in his hand, the numbers punched from memory, before he could talk himself out of it. Sitting on the edge of his bed, Robin listened to the other end of the line ring, his head resting in his free hand. His skull felt ready to implode from the force of his arguments on why this was such a bad idea.

But still, he stayed on the line.

“Hello?”

She sounded tired. He’d woken her up.

“It’s me. I’ll do it.”

There was the sound of fabric rustling, and he envisioned Maggie pushing back the blankets to get out of bed. The brief thought of what she wore to bed flickered across his mind, but he shoved it aside and blamed it on exhaustion.

“Are you certain? You don’t have to make a decision so quickly, you know.”

Everything in her voice told him that she was more than thrilled about him making such a hasty choice. He hated that she was going through the motions of mollycoddling him.

“We both know this is what I want,” Robin said. “Unless you can give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

He thought she might’ve paused a little too long before replying. “No, of course not. I would never have made the suggestion if I didn’t have complete faith in your ability to do it.”

It was oddly worded, but he took it and ran. “Then there’s your answer. I’m in.”

A drawer opened and closed. “I’m going to have one of my men come by in the morning to pick you up,” Maggie said. The scratching of a pen across paper told him that she was writing something down. “Is oh-eight-hundred all right for you?”

“Oh-eight- _now_ is better.”

The scratching stopped. “Have you gotten any sleep?”

“Enough to know I want this done as soon as possible,” Robin replied.

“I need you at the top of your game---.”

“And I will be. Is there a problem with this, Maggie?”

Another pause. He wished he’d done this face to face so he could see what she was thinking. “Of course not. As long as you’re certain you can do this. It’s not going to be easy.”

“I’m certain.”

“I’ll have my men there in fifteen minutes then. And…Robin?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Graham and Oz were on the front walk when Lydia appeared in the doorway, waving them inside.

“They’re gone,” Wesley told them once the door was closed firmly behind them. “Buffy. Spike. Willow. All three of them.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

“Without the sound effects, of course,” Giles said. The look he shot Wesley was withering. “It must be Esme. There’s no other explanation.”

“What do you want us to do?” Oz asked.

“Is there anything we _can_ do?” Graham countered.

“Not really,” Giles admitted.

Mrs. Summers was hovering in the background, looking very disgruntled about the proclamation. She didn’t say a word, though, which told Graham that she’d already argued her case with the Brits and lost.

“We have no idea where Esme is,” Giles went on. “Wesley and I are going to do a locator spell, but frankly, I have little hope that it will actually work. Esme has likely taken the necessary measures to protect herself from us.”

Oz’s brows were drawn into a thick line. “I don’t get it,” he said slowly. “Why would she take Willow and the others when she’d already stopped by to give Buffy the tea?”

“It does seem like overkill,” Graham offered.

“Esme’s the only person with the necessary magical skills who has a personal interest in all three of them,” Wesley said.

An idea sparked in the back of Graham’s mind. Though normally he wouldn’t have been so quick to make the suggestion, these weren’t normal circumstances. This was Oz’s girlfriend, and the Slayer. He owed these people to at least voice it.

“There is one other possibility,” he said carefully. He didn’t flinch under their gazes when everybody looked to him. “The Initiative. According to what I understand with what happened, Spike and Willow were right in the middle of the fight getting Xander out. And Buffy’s tutor _was_ working for Dr. Walsh.”

Obviously, the possibility had never occurred to the older men. “Do you really think they would do something like this?” Giles asked.

“Do I think they _would_? Yes. I’m not so sure they would’ve used magic to get it done, but since we can’t really do anything about the witch right now, isn’t it worth it to look into? Just in case.”

“Could you do that?” Wesley asked warily.

Graham nodded. “I know some guys. If the Initiative has Willow and the others in custody, I can find out for you.”

“I’m reluctant to send you on such a dangerous errand, though.” Giles rubbed at the back of his neck, his weariness bowing his back and making him appear even older. “After what happened with Willow---.”

“It’s not the same risk,” Graham interjected. “It’s just gathering intelligence. And I wouldn’t have volunteered if I didn’t think I could handle it.”

“Is this a one-man operation?”

Oz’s question took him by surprise. “Doesn’t really matter.”

“Then I’ll go with you. Safety in numbers.”

Both young men looked to Giles for approval. After a long moment, he nodded. “All right,” he conceded. “It’s better to rule out Dr. Walsh now, rather than ignore the possibility.” He raised a warning finger. “But no unnecessary risks. We’re already short-handed enough in this. I don’t wish to lose the two of you as well.”

Their agreement had them out the front door in record time, bundled into Oz’s van before anybody could change their minds. Neither man spoke until they reached the corner.

“Where to?” Oz asked.

It continued to surprise Graham that after everything that had happened between them, Oz so willingly gave him the lead. There was no deceit in the other man’s face, no mistrust. Just expectation. Patience. Graham respected that.

“Lowell House,” he said.

Honestly, he didn’t expect anything to pan out. Magic wasn’t Dr. Walsh’s thing. But this would allow him the chance to grab his things before they disappeared. He still had no idea how he was going to handle the whole being AWOL matter, but Graham figured that in light of everything else that was going on at the moment, that was minor.

What was one more soldier when you were facing an army?

* * *

Willow shivered in the cool air of the cavern. Ever since Havi’s departure, the Well had been deathly silent, the water still and dark. It left her to her thoughts, which in the aftermath of her so-called resurrection, Willow had decided was not a good thing. When she started thinking, she started remembering, and the memories carried with them recriminations that made her bleed. If she’d never lost her powers, if she’d only been a little more careful in rescuing Xander, none of them would be in their current predicament. Esme wouldn’t be an uber-witch, and Buffy and Spike wouldn’t be locked into another one of their tea dreams, and she wouldn’t currently be sitting in a big hole underground wondering how she was ever going to get out again. It was all a big mess and it all came back to her. Again.

In a vain attempt to distract herself, Willow tried the few variations of the incantation she and the Watchers had come up with prior to her departure from the Summers house. Not surprisingly, none of them worked. She couldn’t even feel the familiar surge of the magic in her feeble attempts. It was almost like the cavern was sucking what power she had right out of her, though she knew that wasn’t really the case. She just lacked the energy to focus.

As much as she hated the thought of disturbing them, Willow gradually edged closer and closer to Buffy, stealing what body heat she could. Spike was useless in that regard, and anyway, the notion of snuggling with him was so far off the wiggy scale that she shuddered to consider it. Just what she needed in case either one of them woke up on their own. There was no way she could explain that away.

Sleep eventually won, and she fell into a light doze, plagued with dreams of water monsters wielding tea as weapons. They chased her through endless corridors, trying to convince her to drink, so that when she suddenly jerked awake, Willow’s heart was pounding inside her chest, desperate for escape. Wiping at the sweat that filmed her brow, she struggled to sit up, wondering why it was she’d been startled from her sleep.

Then she heard it.

A scratching. Against rock.

Her gaze jumped to Buffy and Spike. Both were still out for the count, and a glance at her watch told Willow that Havi had been gone for less than two hours. Dawn would be breaking in Sunnydale, the town rising to face its day, but down here at the Well of Guardians, it might as well be midnight. Time didn’t exist. Except to stretch into forever while she debated what to do.

It had to be Havi. That was all there was to it. Nobody else could move safely within the cavern.

Slowly, she rose to her feet. The scratching was growing louder, but it was still muffled by the dense walls lining the cavern. “Havi?” she called out, her voice more tentative than she would’ve wanted. She walked a few feet closer to the tunnel that led to the main exit, every step creating hollow echoes. “Is that you?”

Willow stopped. Listened.

The scratching continued.

Nobody responded.

The quiet that had driven her so crazy after Havi’s departure now was lost to the thunder of her blood in her veins. Looking around, Willow searched for something she could use as a weapon, but the smooth walls refused to yield anything helpful. She closed her eyes. Focused her attention inward. The only weapon she had was the remnants of her magic.

“Willow?”

Her eyes shot open at the male voice. From the narrow opening, Robin Wood emerged, slightly dusty but looking no worse for wear. Over his shoulder was slung a backpack, but it didn’t look like it had anything in it.

“What…?” Her eyes jumped behind him but she could see nothing else in the dark that yawned in the corridor from which he’d come. “What’re you doing here?”

His dark eyes were inscrutable, and there was no mistaking the way they settled on Buffy and Spike. “The same thing you are, I imagine,” he replied.

When he stepped toward the sleeping couple, Willow automatically moved between them. “Did you see Giles?” she asked carefully. Memories of how worried Buffy had been about Robin made her wary.

His gaze swept back to her, and for a second, her fears felt foolish. Something sympathetic lurked within the brown depths, and the curve of his mouth was almost gentle. “No,” he admitted. “I didn’t.”

She never saw his hand move. She just felt the electric shock of the taser before she crumpled to the floor.


	56. Thy Scythe and Thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXXIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Oz and Graham are off to see if Maggie has anything to do with Buffy and Spike’s sudden interference, Havi has left the Well to tell the others Buffy and Spike are OK, and Robin has arrived at the Well to retrieve the Slayer artifacts, only to encounter Willow…

The taser was Maggie’s idea. “Standard operating procedure,” she’d said. What he’d wanted to snap back wasn’t nearly as polite, so Robin had held his tongue, pretty sure that it was just a symptom of his growing tiredness. Now, though, encountering Willow when he hadn’t been expecting anyone, he was willing to concede that maybe it had been a good decision. He liked Willow, but how could he possibly explain his presence in such an unlikely environment? It was obvious they were looking for the artifacts as well, though why two of them had been unconscious upon his arrival, Robin had no idea.

He stared at Buffy and Spike for what felt like an eternity. She didn’t look hurt, and if he didn’t know better, he would’ve just assumed she was asleep. That was impossible, though. Even being a Slayer, there was no way she could’ve found a way into the cavern in her condition; at the very least, she would’ve required assistance.

His gaze settled on the vampire, his sneer coming of its own volition. Spike had probably been that aid. He probably had some ulterior motive to get the girls down here, couching it in faux concern. But as quickly as the accusation came, Robin dismissed it. He’d seen firsthand how upset Spike had been when Buffy was in the hospital; if nothing else, the vampire had genuine feelings for the girl and the child she carried. As vicious as he could be with the general populace, Spike would never let harm purposefully fall on Buffy or the baby.

There was something else at work here, something Robin didn’t understand. He began to regret tasering Willow so quickly. If he hadn’t jumped to the conclusion that she would interfere with his operation, he might have been able to get some answers out of her. Now he would have to find the answers for himself.

Perhaps there was some sort of protection set up with the artifacts that had been triggered by Buffy and Spike, he mused. Robin glanced around, and then frowned. The only problem with that theory was that the supposed artifacts were nowhere to be seen. Maggie’s assurance that he would find them in these caverns seemed increasingly erroneous, and he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Maggie wasn’t as informed about this as she could be. She hadn’t told him about the presence of others, and as far as he could tell, there was no place for the artifacts to be hidden. The walls were smooth, almost like glass. The only possibility was the well in the middle of the room.

Though he cast a cursory glance into the water, Robin’s attention quickly shifted back to Buffy. Her breathing was slow and even, a healthy flush in her cheeks, and when he went to check her pulse, it seemed just as normal. She had to be asleep.

“Buffy,” he said softly, shaking her gently. When she didn’t respond, he shook her a little more forcefully. “Buffy,” he said louder, but the only reaction he got was a faint echo of his voice bouncing off the cavern walls.

A quick scan of her body revealed a lack of obvious injury, as did a superficial exam of her scalp. No head wounds, no blood loss. Her condition made no sense.

The only thing he was sure of was that this couldn’t be good for the baby.

Straightening, he stepped briskly back to the cavern’s entrance, retracing his steps to the opening through which he’d come. The soldiers that had accompanied him waited on its other side, and he crouched down to bark out orders to them.

“Somebody widen this hole,” he said. “And then get Dr. Walsh on the phone. Tell her to have a medical crew ready for us.”

The baby-faced private frowned, looking Robin over. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s not me. There’s a pregnant woman in here, and she’s unconscious.”

“But what about---?”

“Just do it!”

He glared at the soldiers as they scrambled to do what he said, then dropped his backpack in order to hurry back to the cavern. Maggie would have to wait on her artifacts. The Slayer came first.

The Slayer always came first.

* * *

They saw the black truck pull away from Lowell House as they were slipping around the building.

“Damn it,” Graham muttered. His drawn gaze followed the vehicle as it sped down the road, then disappeared around the corner.

“Something tells me they’re not on their way to a hoedown,” Oz said. He shifted the gym bag on his shoulder, falling into step again behind Graham as they resumed walking. “Which is a shame since I actually have a hoe in the back of the van.”

“They didn’t go through the tunnels. That means Walsh’s orders were urgent and topside.”

“You think it’s about Willow and Buffy?”

“Only one way to find out.”

Neither said another word until they reached the van, and it wasn’t until Oz was sliding behind the steering wheel before Graham addressed him again.

“Go to the public library.”

Though he pulled away in the necessary direction, Oz cast a frown at his partner. “Library’s closed this early.”

“It won’t be for us.”

The streets of Sunnydale were mostly deserted in the wee hours of the morning, and Oz made it to the other side of town in record time. When he attempted to pull up in front, however, Graham shook his head.

“Go to the service lot in the back,” he instructed. “Park as close to the building as you can get. It’ll be better if we’re not seen going in.”

He didn’t understand it but did as he was told. In the lot he’d never realized was there was a beat-up Festiva with blacked-out windows and a faded “Jesus rocks!” bumper sticker on its rear. He thought he heard Graham make a pleased noise in the back of his throat, but the soldier was out of the van too quickly for Oz to be sure.

Jogging to catch up, Oz saw him slip a passkey into one of the library’s back doors, holding it open just enough for both of them to slip in with minimal fuss. “You know,” he said, following Graham into the darkness, “if this is about the copy of _The Velveteen Rabbit_ that I lost in the second grade, I was acquitted on all fees.”

“Not all the Initiative techs are enlisted,” Graham explained, ignoring Oz’s comment. The must of aged paper filled the corridor. Oz found it comforting. “If Walsh recognized someone who could be useful but knew they wouldn’t pass basic, she did a private recruit. This guy is one of them.”

“Like she did with Wood.”

“Exactly. Except for the fact Wood could’ve done basic with his eyes closed.” He stopped at a door that had a sliver of light visible at its bottom edge. “This guy’s one of Walsh’s info gurus, but as far as I know, she only uses him for emergencies. He should be safe.”

“If he’s so good, why doesn’t she use him more often?”

Graham paused. “Walsh likes stable. This guy’s…not.”

They stepped into a room lined with filing cabinets and stacks of boxes. Along a narrow table on the far wall sat a man with his hunched back to the door, his fingers flying over the laptop in front of him, an open book so old that it would’ve had Giles salivating at his side. He was so pale that Oz knew right away he was a vampire.

“You didn’t knock,” the vamp said, without looking back.

Graham folded his arms across his chest, hovering near the exit. “I know.”

Swiveling in his chair, the vampire turned to face them, his wiry black hair looking as if he’d been pulling at it from every direction. “That’s very rude, you know. I don’t go barging into Lowell House without being asked in, now do I? No. Because it’s _rude_. Learn some manners, Miller.”

“You’re an HST. You’re lucky I don’t stake you just for the principle of it.”

If it was possible, the vampire went even paler. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Information. On one of Walsh’s projects.”

Glints of gold flickered in the demon’s eyes, and a hungry smile began to curve his lips. “Is this about the Slayer artifacts?” he asked. “I saw from the monitors that Walsh sent in another team. Or is it something else?” He rubbed his hands together. Oz thought it almost looked gleeful. “God, I hope it’s something else. Give me something really good to sink my fangs into. I swear, this Hellmouth has more goodies lying around than a morgue after a massacre. I think I’ve even traced the Gem of Amara to be around here someplace---.”

“Wait.” Oz stepped forward. “Go back. What’s this about Slayer artifacts?”

* * *

The eerie silence of the house was beginning to grow all too familiar to Giles, and he rubbed at his eyes while he waited for Wesley to pour out the fresh pot of tea. “At the very least,” he said, “we can stop worrying about Buffy and Willow for a few hours. I can’t say I’m pleased with these Guardians’ methods, but considering they’re still helping us, I suppose I can’t very well argue with them.”

“It gives us some time to come up with a few more incantation possibilities for Willow,” Wesley said. “I’ll wager we’ll finally have something that will wake Buffy and Spike by the time Havi is ready to leave again.”

Giles could only nod. Havi’s exhausted arrival had been a necessary reprieve. Xander had been quick to send her to bed, then he and Joyce had gone out for a donut run. Giles would’ve liked some sleep himself, but now was not the time for it. Perhaps once Havi left for the Well again, he thought. He could grab a few hours kip while they waited for word about the others.

The phone rang while the two Watchers were sipping their tea. “Hello?” Giles said, picking it up on the first ring. There would be no dillydallying with communications today. Too much was at stake and too many people were at danger.

“I think we’ve got a bigger problem than we thought,” Oz said without bothering with greetings.

“Then come back to the house so that we can discuss it,” Giles said. “Havi returned and reported that the Guardians are responsible for Buffy and Willow’s disappearance, so since they’re safe at the Well---.”

“Willow might be, but Buffy’s not. That’s part of our problem.”

The sureness of Oz’s tone made Giles stiffen, and he set down his teacup before he spilled any. “How do you know that? Havi said she left them safely there.”

“Graham’s contact turned out to be a vampire Walsh has been mining for information for the past few years. He’s got his fingers in all her pies, including being piped into their network. While we were there, there were reports coming in about a team being dispatched out of town to transport an unconscious pregnant female. As requested by Robin Wood.”

Giles listened in growing horror as Oz relayed how the vampire had helped Walsh locate three Slayer artifacts on the boundaries of Sunnydale. After the deaths of two soldiers attempting to retrieve them, she’d enlisted Wood’s aid, who’d found the unconscious woman just an hour earlier. A team had already taken the woman away.

“It’s got to be Buffy,” Oz finished. “I don’t know exactly where the Well is, but the area Wood was in was close to where we found Willow and Havi the other day.”

“Can you trust this information?” Giles asked. “Why would Dr. Walsh enlist the aid of a vampire?”

“Because he’s harmless. He has one of those behavioral chips Graham told us about. Walsh pays him in pig’s blood in exchange for helping her dig around for these artifacts. Apparently, he’s got quite the knack for it.”

“Well, can he tell us where Buffy is located?”

“No. Graham even beat the guy up to see if he was holding back, but no dice.”

“Get back to the house,” Giles instructed. “We’re going to have to formulate a new plan of attack.”

Wesley was staring at him, waiting to hear the details of the conversation. “That did not sound good,” he said after Giles had hung up the phone.

“It’s not.” He walked over to the sink and rinsed out his cup. There would be no more time for leisure now. “Our priorities just changed. Again.”

* * *

He frowned when he saw his apartment building outside the car window. “What’re you doing?” Robin asked the young driver.

“My orders are to take you home, sir.”

“I don’t think so. Take me to where Buffy Summers is.”

“Sir, Dr. Walsh gave me explicit instructions---.”

He stopped speaking with a flinch when Robin growled and reached for his cell phone. It took only a few seconds for Robin to punch in the right number.

“I want to see Buffy,” he said before Maggie could say hello.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” she replied smoothly. “She’s under observation. The doctors are very worried about her. She isn’t allowed any visitors at the moment.”

“Just tell me where she is. By the time I get there, I’m sure---.”

“Robin, I have the best doctors checking Ms. Summers over. What you need to do right now is get some sleep. I regret that you weren’t able to get the artifacts, but once you’ve gotten some rest, you can go back in and finish the job.”

“And risk having the same thing happen to me that happened to Buffy? I don’t think so, Maggie.”

He should’ve known. Maggie spent so much of her time surrounded by secrets and conspiracies that it was inevitable he got included in those she attempted to manipulate. He’d let his respect and affection for her from his college days get the better of him. Even worse, he’d allowed his insecurities about his mother and Spike control him as well. Now, Buffy was suffering for it.

“Get some sleep,” she was saying. “You’re obviously not thinking clearly. When you wake up, call me and we’ll discuss how we’ll proceed.”

She hung up before he could argue. Numb, Robin got out of the car and watched the soldier drive away. He had to fix this. Somehow, he had the sinking feeling that this mess was in large part his fault, and that once Buffy was healthy again, he would be the first person she would want to blame.

If Maggie ever let her out into the real world again. Maggie wanted a Slayer soldier, armed with the artifacts to wreak havoc on the demon world. Now that she had the real thing---not Robin as the poor cousin---there was no telling what she was going to do.

Buffy needed help. Real help. From people who had her best interests at heart.

There was only one thing left he could do.

* * *

Maggie watched the Slayer through the glass observation window. “You’re absolutely sure?” she asked the doctor standing at her side.

“There’s no doubt,” came the reply. “We’ve tried everything we can think of. She’s not waking up.”

“And her vitals are all normal?”

“Completely.”

Maggie sighed. “Thank you. You’re dismissed.”

She didn’t break her gaze as the doctor walked away, leaving her to watch the sleeping Slayer in solitude. If there was nothing physically wrong with Buffy Summers, then it had to be mystical in nature. Very likely, it was a result of trying to retrieve the Slayer artifacts herself. Maggie could only wonder how it was Buffy had discovered the truth about the artifacts in the first place.

While she regretted that Robin hadn’t been successful in his endeavor, perhaps it was for the better this way. She had Buffy under her control now, and once the Slayer woke from whatever magical sleep she’d been put into, she would be able to tell Maggie what kind of defense mechanisms the artifacts had in place. There was no reason for Buffy to suffer them twice.

Maggie wasn’t a monster, after all.

* * *

As Willow struggled back to consciousness, the fleeting wish that she still had the magic defending her at the slightest provocation was her first cognizant thought. Robin wouldn’t have been able to surprise her, she realized as she blinked past the ache. The magic would’ve leapt out and zapped him right back.

Her heart was stone. It was yet another reason to want the power back.

Pushing herself upright, Willow rubbed at her sore head, feeling the lump on her forehead from where she’d fallen and hit it. To say it hadn’t been the best of days would be an understatement, but what she couldn’t figure out was what Robin was doing at the Well in the first place. How had he known about it? If Giles hadn’t sent him, who had?

She looked around the cavern, half-hoping he wouldn’t be there. She didn’t really like the idea of being tasered again. But it was the sight of the single unconscious body still by the Well that made the panic leap into her throat.

“Buffy!” Willow cried out.

Scrambling, she ran for the corridor that led above ground, calling out the Slayer’s name with every step. Only echoes replied.

Buffy’s absence drove her back to the cavern. “Where is she?” she shouted, stopping at the water’s edge. She splashed at the surface like an impatient child in a bath, splattering it over the stone edge and onto the floor. “I know you’re there! Where’s Buffy? What happened? Come on!”

The water started to gurgle, but it didn’t drive Willow away. “What is wrong?” the voice asked.

“What’s wrong? Are you kidding me? Buffy’s gone! _That’s_ what’s wrong!” She slapped at the water again, though it was more out of frustration than anything else. “What did you do?”

“We did nothing.” It was so calm that Willow wanted to scream. “There was no reason for alarm. The Slayer’s son took her.”

“Are you kidding me? Why would you let him do that?”

“Because…he is a Slayer’s son.” Now it sounded confused. “He made no threatening overtures, Willow. Surely, Buffy will be safe with him.”

“He’s working with the same people who killed me, did you know that?” Her cheeks were flushed, her anger fuelling her to start pacing. “And he hid who he really is from Buffy all semester, so no, I’m thinking Buffy really _isn’t_ all that safe right now.”

“Oh. This is unfortunate to hear.”

The placid tone of the water was almost more infuriating. “You have to fix this,” Willow demanded. “You have to bring her back.”

“Are you certain of the this man’s ill intent?”

Willow came to a dead stop before the Well. “Would I be wigging out like this if I didn’t completely believe that?” she countered. “Now, do it!”

There was no verbal response. The water grew more agitated, the power within the cavern becoming so thick that it made Willow quiver in resonance. She chewed at her lower lip, slim arms wrapped around her upper body while she waited, but after a very long minute, nothing had changed.

“What’s wrong?” Willow asked. “Why aren’t you getting Buffy?”

“We’re trying.” For the first time since she awoke, the Guardians sounded distressed. “We…cannot find her.”

That possibility hadn’t occurred to Willow. The world froze around her. “What...is she dead?” Her eyes flew to Spike. He still looked like he was sleeping. Was he suddenly alone in the park?

“We do not know. We will keep trying.”

“You do that.”

She went back to Spike’s side and knelt on the ground. Settling her hand over his unmoving chest, Willow muttered a variation of the incantation she’d tried earlier. Spike could tell her if Buffy was safe. All she had to do was wake him up.

* * *

A good night’s rest had done wonders for her. Esme rose at the crack of dawn feeling more alive than she had since the previous summer, fresh strength coursing through her veins, her body humming with the returned power. She wasn’t foolish enough to think that she was anywhere near her full potential, but there was enough force available to her now to make her tasks here on the Hellmouth infinitely easier.

The first item on her agenda was to get the Slayer.

There were wards up at the Summers’ house, keeping her out upon her first arrival. It made sense. She hadn’t believed that her tinkering with Buffy’s sleep would go unnoticed. Frankly, if Willow and the Watcher hadn’t taken some sort of precaution, Esme would’ve been disappointed.

What _did_ surprise her was that a cursory sweep of the house revealed no trace of the Slayer or Esme’s magical signature.

The others were talking inside, and Esme masked her presence in order to eavesdrop on them without detection. There were voices she didn’t recognize, mostly male, and their constant talking over one another made it difficult to discern what exactly was being said. Soon enough, though, she had the bare bones of the story. It was sufficient for her to know that the Summers’ house was not where she needed to be.

Buffy had been kidnapped from whatever place of safety they’d been keeping her. Apparently, young Robin’s employer, Dr. Walsh, was responsible.

With no more reason to linger, Esme returned to her hotel room. It took little effort to cast the locator spell for Buffy, but the results were vague and confusing. There was no doubt she was still in Sunnydale, but someone had gone to great lengths to hide her presence with some sort of powerful cloaking spell. Nothing Esme tried could break through it.

Dr. Walsh, however, knew where Buffy was. Esme had to get to her before the others did.

* * *

The cacophony was beginning to wear thin. Everybody seemed to have an opinion on how to save Buffy, but none of the suggestions gave Giles any hope that they’d actually succeed. Most were suicidal, at best. While he was certain Spike would have no qualms about acting on any of them, Giles wasn’t quite as willing to make such callous sacrifices. He was sure Buffy would agree with him.

“For the last time,” he said, nearly shouting in order to be heard, “we are _not_ simply charging in! We _don’t_ know where she is, we _don’t_ know how she’s being guarded, and we are not prepared to face an army of unknown proportions.”

“It’s not exactly unknown,” Graham interjected.

The glare Giles shot him was withering. “Regardless, we must be sensible about this if we wish any chance of success. The last thing Buffy would wish would be for anybody else to be hurt, simply for her sake.”

“What we need is an inside man,” Oz said, glancing at Graham.

“I guess that would be me then.”

All eyes turned to the doorway where Robin Wood stood, his arms folded across his chest. Nobody had even heard him enter.

* * *

The guard snapped to attention when he saw Dr. Walsh approach. His eyes remained forward as she passed and looked through the observation window, a smile brightening her features much more than normal as she gazed at the young woman inside.

“How’s our patient?” she asked

The guard hesitated. “It’s been quiet, ma’am,” he replied.

“I’m going to…review her chart.” She gestured toward the window. “Is there a way to cover this so that I can have some privacy?”

He frowned, but turned and pressed the button to draw the electronic blind. Within seconds, the window was obscured from anyone looking in.

“Excellent,” Dr. Walsh said. She was still smiling as he released the lock on the door for her. “Thank you.”

He remained at his post as the door clicked shut behind him, though it was hard not to try and listen to the soft murmur of her voice within. Was Dr. Walsh really talking to an unconscious patient? Weird. But then again, she wasn’t exactly the queen of normal. He’d seen her do a lot of weird shit since he joined the Initiative.

He snapped to attention again when one of the doctors passed in the hall. The doctor hesitated when he saw the closed window and turned back to address the guard.

“Why is this drawn?” he asked.

“Dr. Walsh’s request. She’s inside with the patient. She requested privacy.”

“Really?” His bespectacled gaze drifted to the door. “I thought she’d gone back to her office to do some paperwork.”

A moment later, the doctor shrugged and continued walking. When the corridor was empty again, the guard released the breath he’d been holding.

Yep. Weird shit.

Maybe it was time to start thinking about a transfer.


	57. Some Child of Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XVII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Robin thought Buffy in danger and arranged to have her taken away, only to have Maggie refuse to let him see her; Oz and Graham learned more about the Slayer artifacts and that Buffy was no longer safe, while Buffy has received a visitor…

Robin’s arrival did what Giles’ raised voice couldn’t. It stopped the arguing about how to help Buffy and re-focused everybody’s attention on the man in the doorway. The only thing that Giles regretted was that he wasn’t the first to reach Robin.

“You selfish bastard!” Wesley’s forearm was pressed violently against Robin’s windpipe, his extra inches allowing him an advantage in spite of the other man’s larger muscle mass. “You, of all people, should know what she goes through. What she _has_ gone through. Did your mother’s death teach you _nothing_?”

To his credit, Robin didn’t fight back, though Giles strongly suspected he could take Wesley if it came to hand to hand combat. “She taught me to treasure life,” he said tightly. “I was worried about Buffy’s baby, which was why I got her out of there. I did it for her own good.”

“And calling 911 never occurred to you,” Xander commented.

“I thought Maggie would be better prepared---.”

The end of the sentence was choked off when Wesley pushed harder against his throat. “Because of you, Buffy’s now in even greater danger.”

Carefully, Giles grasped Wesley’s arm and pulled it away. “And as satisfying as it would be to take our frustration out on Robin, we still have the problem of getting Buffy back to safety before Esme finds her.”

Robin stiffened at the witch’s name. “What does Esme have to do with anything?”

“She has her powers back,” Giles explained. “And she’s targeted Buffy again. We think it’s because she’s interested in the Slayer artifacts.” His eyes narrowed, his anger only barely concealed. “Just as your friend—Dr. Walsh—is.”

“But she can’t have her magic back,” Robin argued. “I just saw Willow. She was fine.”

Oz stepped forward. “She wasn’t earlier. How did you know she needed to get hurt in order to lose the magic?”

Robin looked like a cornered animal, intelligent eyes darting around to the various men in the room. He realized quickly that avoiding the answers they sought would do him no good and sighed in resignation.

“Esme told me. She wanted to make a trade with me, though we never really agreed on it. But she said Willow had to _die_ in order for her to get her power back. When I saw her, Willow looked more than alive.”

“She _was_ dead.” Wesley’s voice was ice. “Obviously, she’s not any longer.”

Unexpected panic made Robin dart forward, only to be slammed back against the wall again by Wesley. “She’s going to think I had something to do with that,” he said quickly. “We have to stop her before she gets to Buffy.”

“Not that I don’t agree, but why are you so adamant about this all of a sudden?”

Giles’ blood ran cold when Robin explained, but it served to fuel the group into action again, returning their arguments to getting someone into the Initiative in order to create the diversion necessary to find Buffy and get her out.

“I can get to her,” Robin asserted. “I know I can.”

“That doesn’t solve the problem of an army that outnumbers us,” Oz said.

Graham nodded. “We need our own army.”

“I know this is bordering on suicidal,” Xander said, “but what about all those demons you guys kept kidnapping? You didn’t kill all of them, did you?”

“They’re being contained.”

Giles caught Xander’s germ of an idea, his eyes almost gleaming. “Then perhaps it would be in our best interest if they weren’t,” he said. “If we can’t fight the soldiers, the demons will.”

“What’s to stop them from fighting us?” Xander asked.

“That’s for us to figure out.” With one last deadly glance at Robin, Giles bent over the dining room table, grabbing a pen to start sketching out the plan. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

It was ridiculous how trusting some of these people could be, Esme thought as she looked over the equipment in the Slayer’s room. Of course, some of it had to do with the glamour she adopted. Obviously, Dr. Walsh was a woman of power and respect. Using that was the smartest thing Esme could’ve done in getting to Buffy.

Thankfully, the Slayer still slept, the effects of the tea working just as Esme had prescribed. Her color was good, as was her breathing, and when Esme put away the chart that said just how little they’d been able to do with Buffy, it was all she could do not to laugh out loud with glee at how easily this was turning in her favor. Once Buffy was awake and under her control, the rest of it would be simple. Eternal life was finally going to be Esme’s.

Resting a single hand on the Slayer’s chest, Esme closed her eyes and uttered the incantation necessary to break the effects of the tea. The power crackled through her veins, burning in a rage to be released, but as it attempted to flow free of Esme’s control, a violent tide swelled back toward her, frightening her enough for her to snatch her hand away and break the spell.

Her dark eyes flew to the Slayer’s face, searching for any hint of what might have caused the backlash. Buffy slept on, peace still evident in her lax features.

Carefully, Esme tried again, exerting more control along the lines of the incantation as she attempted to wake the girl up. This time, she saw the swell as the blockade it actually was, stopping again in time to prevent any harm to herself.

She couldn’t break the effects of the tea. Something was anchoring the Slayer within the dream world the magic constructed.

When Esme had altered the spell, she’d done it using the only catalyst she had on hand---the unborn child. It carried with it both Buffy and Spike’s DNA, creating the bridge through which Buffy could cross. But if Esme was now being stopped from drawing the Slayer back over that bridge, that meant there was something on the other side holding her there.

There was only one possible something for it to be.

Fury welled inside Esme, and she took a step away from the bed before it leaked through and hurt the Slayer. Spike had taken some of the tea. Even if he was present, she wouldn’t be able to wake Buffy. A circuit had been closed with his arrival within the dream world, and there was no way for Esme to breech that now.

She stilled. Well. There was _one_.

In the present circumstances, Buffy was untouchable. What Esme needed to do was take away one of the factors that had closed that particular door. Her eyes drifted to the swell of the Slayer’s stomach.

It appeared that young Robin would be getting his wish after all.

* * *

As she leaned back against Spike’s chest, Buffy sighed, letting her muscles melt into his lean frame. She felt guilty for being in such a good mood. Spike had told her about everything that was going on back at the house, and while she was desperate to return and get everything fixed, she was also enjoying this brief respite for the luxury it was.

It was weird seeing Spike in the sunlight. The pallor of his skin was even more pronounced in the golden ambience of the park, and the white shirt he’d always worn didn’t help make him look any healthier. His hair was brighter, too, but after an amused comment about needing sunglasses, Buffy had let that tease go. Still, in the pretend daylight, a softness seemed to return to Spike’s features that she had to admit she saw very rarely any more. It reminded her so much of William that, more than once, she had to stop herself from calling him that out loud.

“Is it me or does it seem to be taking them an awful long time to figure out how to wake us up?” she mused, her fingers toying with stray blades of grass.

“It’s you,” Spike replied. He chuckled when she slapped at his knee and wrapped his arms more tightly around her. “Red will suss it out,” he added. “The girl’s not nearly as powerless as she’d like to think.”

“This should give her confidence a boost. As long as it doesn’t take too--.”

She stopped, a sudden tightening around her abdomen sucking the air from her lungs.

Spike noticed the change in her body language right away and helped her sit up. “What is it?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Buffy frowned, and her hand automatically strayed to her stomach. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It’s--.”

It ended with a scream. The agonizing pain rippled through her.

Bracing his arm around her back, Spike laid her out onto the grass, though it took all of Buffy’s will not to curl into a ball and protect the baby. His hands drew up her tunic to rest upon her stomach, and she could feel Schmoo lashing out against his palms. Fighting.

_That’s my baby._

“What’s goin’ on?” Spike kept repeating. Every utterance grew more desperate.

“I don’t know.” She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. “It feels like…”

“Red!” he snarled. “I told her she shouldn’t--.”

“No. It’s not the same.” Buffy gasped, every stab making it even harder to breathe.

“Is it the little one? Or something else?”

She could hear it in his voice that he almost hoped it was the latter. Because they both knew that Buffy was in a better position to fight for her life than the baby was. She hated having to take that away.

“It’s Schmoo.” She sucked in air to try and steel against the pain. “Something’s wrong.”

* * *

There was a dull ache behind Maggie’s eyes, and she gripped the edge of her desk in order to pull herself upright. Her fingers scrambled across the smooth surface, scattering papers and pens as she reached for her telephone. The old woman had packed a wallop; Maggie’s men needed to be alerted to the witch’s presence, though she wasn’t entirely sure how they were going to be able to stop her.

The bitter taste in her mouth was unexplainable. When the old woman had released the magical blast that had knocked Maggie out, there had been a searing pain within her chest, followed by a certainty that she was having a heart attack. Falling unconscious had been a welcome relief. It was interesting to note the other effects of the attack, though she would have to make a note of them later.

Her hand was shaking as she punched in the extension for the secluded infirmary where the Slayer was being held. The guard’s greeting was interrupted by her curt tones.

“Buffy Summers is to be moved to isolation,” she ordered. “And I want her guards tripled until further notice.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She held the line while she listened to him repeat her instructions to another soldier, but a new voice—one of the doctors, she thought—kept him from returning right away. When he did, there was a hesitancy in his voice.

“Ma’am? Dr. Wilson says I’m going to need your level five security clearance in order to do as you request.”

She barked it out, and then added, “Now tell me. What’s going on?”

The phone was handed over. “Maggie?”

“Are _you_ going to tell me what’s happening here, Wilson?”

He cleared his throat. “I needed to be sure it was you. Where are you?”

“In my office.”

More voices in the background, and then the shrill ring of an alarm began to sound.

“Tell me what’s happening!” she snapped.

The guard came back on the line. “The monitors have gone crazy in Ms. Summers’ room,” he explained. “Dr. Wilson’s run to see what’s going on.”

“I’ll be right there!”

She’d almost hung up the phone when she heard, “But…you were just here!”

Maggie blocked out the fear his protestation elicited as she bolted for the doorway. She had to get to the Slayer before it was too late. Any hesitation, and she was convinced that all would be lost.

* * *

Esme hadn’t considered the monitors. The sudden shock of hearing them go off made her jerk away from where she’d been touching the Slayer’s abdomen, her gaze sliding to the flashing lights at the side of the bed. All it took was a quick charge to turn them off, but already, she could hear the running of feet in the hallway.

The door flew open and a young dark-haired doctor came racing in, followed by the guard who’d been on the door, as well as a few others. The doctor did a double-take when he saw her, eyes narrowing as they swept over her, but his next barked order held no hesitancy.

“Arrest her!” he commanded the guards. “She’s a fake. I just got off the phone with Dr. Walsh myself.”

Three of the soldiers rushed toward Esme, but a blast from her palm sent two of them to the floor. The doctor stopped where he’d been advancing.

“Who are you?” he asked. “What did you do to my patient?”

Her lip curled into a malicious smile. “Waking her up, which it would appear is more than you’ve been accomplishing.”

He jabbed a finger at the now-silent monitors. “Those were on the baby, so I’m only going to ask you one more time. What did you _do_?”

“I believe I answered that question already. No wonder you’ve failed so abysmally.”

The doctor didn’t even blink as he uttered the order to shoot. Esme had no choice but to teleport herself out of the room if she wanted to survive. It was too soon for her to be exhausting her magic so thoroughly, and she’d already expended quite a bit doing what she could to take care of the issue with the baby.

After all, destroying a creature’s soul was never an easy thing to do.

* * *

Willow felt like she was going to cry. Nothing she was doing with Spike was doing any good, and now, all of a sudden, his peaceful slumber was far from peaceful. Only minutes earlier, his brows had drawn into a straight line, his eyes flickering ever more violently behind his closed lids. He was dreaming—well, he’d always been dreaming, but it looked like what had been a calm walk in the park was now a nightmare.

Nightmare plus Buffy’s absence equaled a whole lot of fear and panic in Willow.

The permutations on the incantation fell from her lips, one after another, faster and faster until the words became a blur, her tongue increasingly numb as it tripped and stumbled. Spike began to grow agitated, his muscles twitching. He even knocked her over at one point.

“This isn’t working!” she shouted in frustration. She’d heard very little from the Guardians since their aborted attempts to bring Buffy back, but that didn’t mean anything. She knew they were just lurking on the periphery, waiting…for what, she had no idea.

“You have to help me!” Jumping to her feet, Willow rounded the Well to stare down into the water, watching it percolate and come back to life. “Something’s wrong. Spike shouldn’t be getting this upset if he’s just asleep. I have to wake him up.”

“We do not know how to counter Esme’s spell,” the voice of the Guardians said. She hated that it sounded so calm. “You know this.”

“I’m close. I can feel it. I just…” She blinked. Hard. She was _not_ going to cry. “If I had Esme’s power back, I know I could do it. I wouldn’t even have to try.”

“You have your own power, Willow. Use it.”

“Don’t you think I’ve been trying that?” Her voice echoed against the walls as it rose in volume. “Nothing’s working! It’s like…it’s like I’m pushing against saran wrap. There’s give, and I can feel it wanting to yield, to break, but it’s too strong for me to punch through. If I just had a little more power, I could do it.”

For a long moment, the only sounds within the cavern were the gurgling water and the occasional shuffle of Spike’s twitching body.

“We could give you the power you seek,” the voice finally said.

Willow leapt forward. Her blood was roaring in her ears. “What do you mean? How?”

“Join us. Become a Guardian and you will have all of our resources at your command.”

“You can fix this? Why didn’t you say so?”

“We did not say so because we cannot. But if you were to agree to join our ranks, we would be able to augment that which you already have. If you are this close already, our combined strength could be enough to help you find the answers for which you seek.”

She didn’t have a choice. She knew she didn’t. And though Willow was terrified about what becoming a Guardian might mean, the possibility about having even a fraction of the power she’d had with Esme back was too alluring to resist.

Willow knelt at the edge of the Well, just as she’d done Havi do. “What do I have to do?”

* * *

If she never saw the park again, Buffy thought it would be too soon. It was just definitive proof of what was keeping her from helping her baby, and the longer the pains went on, the more terrified she became that it was going to be too late. Spike’s arms held her close, but not even his preternatural strength was enough to fight against what was going on. Whatever it was.

“Talk to me, luv,” Spike crooned. “Don’t close me out. Tell me what to do.”

“Just…hold me.”

Her arms were wrapped around her stomach as she leaned into his chest. The thing she was afraid to tell him was how the pain was changing. The pangs were still as strong as they’d been when they started, but over the past few minutes, the focus of them had shifted, burrowing deeper and deeper into her body until it felt like they were radiating from the base of her diaphragm, from inside the lower part of her chest. What was worse was that Schmoo’s kicks were growing weaker. She wanted to think that the baby was just getting tired, but part of her feared that was wishful thinking.

“Buffy…”

She’d been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized that Spike’s arms had grown rigid around her. Craning her neck to meet his worried gaze, she instantly regretted it.

“You know something,” she whispered, and then winced when another pain shot through her body.

His eyes were almost black. “The little one’s heartbeat…”

The clutch of her hand stopped him from finishing the sentence. Buffy didn’t want him to put voice to what was scaring the life out of her.

“No, no, no,” she breathed. She squeezed her eyes shut and bent her neck. She wasn’t going to consider the possibility that anything could be wrong with Schmoo. All she was going to do was believe that Willow was going to wake them up in time in order to stop whatever was happening.

And then her world disappeared. She tumbled against the soft grass as the hard arms holding her went away.

“Spike!”

* * *

The first thing he saw was Red’s wide eyes. Spike almost shouted in relief. The witch had finally come through.

Then he realized he wasn’t in the Summers house any longer. Even worse, he could only hear a single heartbeat in the room around him.

“Buffy…” he gasped, but when he tried to push himself upright, a wave of nausea swamped over him, driving him to his side to retch into the dirt.

Willow’s warm hands came to his shoulders, and he was mildly surprised at the nimble strength within her fingers. “What was happening?” she asked in a rush. “I know you were upset. Was…Buffy still with you?”

He wiped at his mouth, shaking his head to clear it. The room still spun around him. “Yeah.” With his eyes closed, it was impossible to deny the sounds pulsing through his body, and Spike forced his nausea down to rise to his knees, waiting a moment before looking around him.

It was a cavern, but the rushing water of the well in its center was all he needed to know where he was. He also knew it was where Buffy wasn’t.

“Spike…” Willow cut him off before he could ask. When he turned his head to look at her, he noticed for the first time the white streaks in her hair, how black her eyes were. “I need you to tell me exactly what was going on in the dream. It’s the only way I can help.”

His stomach clenched as her words forced the memory to return. “It’s the little one,” he murmured. “Buffy…was in pain, and then…” All of a sudden, his eyes burned from the sudden rush of angry tears. “I think the baby’s dead.”


	58. His Tender Heir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet I.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Robin crashed the Summers house only to alert them to the added problem of Esme; Esme got to Buffy, only to realize that she couldn’t wake her up, forcing her to get rid of the block; in the dream, Buffy felt the effects of Esme’s spell and Willow joined the Guardians in order to get the power boost she needed to wake Spike up, just to discover that he thinks the baby is dead…  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: There is sensitive subject matter regarding an unborn child within this chapter. I will freely admit that I cried when writing out Spike's early reactions in this. As was indicated in the chapter previous, Esme has cast a very bad spell on the baby and that just doesn't go away. It has consequences. Those consequences are clarified in this chapter and could be disturbing to some. However, ultimately, this story is not a tragedy. I brought Willow back, didn't I? :) Still, some might choose to skip this chapter, and that's all right. The "previously" on the next chapter will explain what is necessary for the story to proceed without the emotional impact of having to read it directly. My sincerest apologies to anybody who might have read already and been very upset. This was never my intention. *hugs*

Without Spike, it was a lot harder to stay calm. Buffy’s fingers clawed into the soft grass, breaking through the surface of the soil as wave after wave of pain rolled through her abdomen. She could feel the dirt driving beneath her nails, felt the sharp sting of a tiny stone scraping over her cuticle, but none of that did anything to distract her from the panic mushrooming inside her flesh.

“Don’t do this,” she said to nobody in particular. “Please.”

Promise after promise tumbled from her lips, vows to be better, be stronger, be nicer to skeazy informants, anything that would appease whatever was doing this to Schmoo. Desperation drove her to pledge her life itself, but when begging didn’t work, Buffy grew angry.

“It’s just a baby,” she spat. She had to roll onto her side to ease the freshest assault. “What harm did it do to anybody? It didn’t, that’s what. It’s an innocent, and so help me god, if anything happens to Schmoo, I swear I will hunt down whoever is responsible and beat them to death with their own spine.”

Violent threats made her feel mildly better.

* * *

He lashed out before the nausea had abated, his fist slamming into the smooth stone of the walls. While the impact created a nice shower of dust around his bleeding knuckles, the sudden vehemence of the water behind Spike distracted him from fully appreciating the respite.

“He must leave now,” a lyrical voice emanating from the water said. “His presence taints everything that we are.”

Spike met Willow’s black eyes, but the support he expected to find there was missing. “They’re right,” she said. When he took a menacing step toward the well, she sidestepped to block his path. “We have to go help Buffy anyway. It’s better this way.”

“Go help her?” he repeated. “Why isn’t she here, Red? What the hell is going on?”

“I’ll explain later. But if we’re going to save the baby, Spike, we have to leave _now_.”

His instinct was to argue. The need to protect the little one superceded that.

Tamping down the residual effects of waking up so suddenly, Spike whirled on his heel and marched toward the only exit in the cavern. He was stopped by Willow’s hand on his arm, stronger than he would have expected.

“Not that way,” she said. “Brace yourself. I’m going to teleport us back to Buffy’s house.”

“What happened to you not having that kind of power?” he asked.

Her guilty glance back at the well gave him his answer.

“You said you were goin’ to give more thought before throwing your lot in with them,” Spike accused. “Have you gone completely off your bird, Red? How long was I fuckin’ asleep?”

“It was the only way.” Power crackled around her at the sharpness of her voice, and Spike took a wary step away, eyes narrowed as he watched to see what she might do. “I needed to wake you up and I couldn’t do it on my own. It was the right decision, though. I don’t regret it. Not in the slightest.”

“You say that now--.”

“And I’ll say it tomorrow, and the day after that.” Her hand returned to his arm, and the magic he could feel charging between her fingers made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Now that he knew she was juiced, it was impossible to ignore. “Right now, though,” Willow continued, “you’re going to shut up while I get us somewhere we’ll do a little more good.”

* * *

He was helping Graham carry weapons out to the van when Oz heard her voice come from the kitchen. His heart started pounding in his chest as he rushed through his trip, each pace faster than the one previous as he ran back to the house, and by the time he saw the familiar fall of her hair as she bent over Giles’ plans on the dining room table, all Oz could think of was scooping Willow into his arms. He didn’t even notice that anyone else was in the room until after he was hugging Willow.

“You’re awake,” he said to Spike when she’d pulled away. The blood on the vampire’s knuckles made Oz’s nose twitch. “What happened?”

“It’s the little one.” Oz had never seen Spike look so bleak, even when Buffy had been in the hospital. “When I was with Buffy…its heart stopped beating.”

“It’s got to be Esme,” Willow said. As she spoke, she turned to look at Oz, startling him with the blackness of her eyes and the white streaks in the hair at her temples. “When the Guardians looked, they couldn’t find Buffy, but I’ll bet she did. She’s got resources they can’t even imagine. It’s one reason why they were so eager to bring me in.”

Slowly, he lifted a hand and touched her hair. “Are they responsible for you going Rogue?”

She blushed but didn’t back down. “It was the only way to get the power I needed to wake up Spike. I’m not up to the level I was with Esme’s power, but still…it’s good. It’s…different.” She squeezed his arm reassuringly. “It’s different good.”

“What are you planning on doing?” Oz asked.

Willow and Giles exchanged a quick look. “The only thing I can,” she said. “Find Buffy and help her.”

He tensed. That meant only one thing. “You _died_ the last time you went there.” His voice was uncharacteristically sharp, his words fast. “And you said it yourself. You’re not as strong this time as you were before.” Pulling her into his arms, his hand came up to the back of her neck, holding her still while he breathed in her scent. Though there was something new in her smell, a soft earthy tone that hadn’t been there before, it served to calm him enough to say, “I can’t lose you again.”

“You won’t.” Her lips skimmed over his jaw and then she was pulling away. This close, he could see that her eyes weren’t completely black like he’d thought. Hints of hazel peeked through the ebony. “Spike’s going with me.”

“As am I.” Havi’s voice rang out from the doorway. She’d been preparing to go with him and Graham, but Willow’s arrival had obviously changed that plan. “She is my responsibility, more than ever before. I will die before I allow anything to happen to Willow this time.”

“So, see? All good.” Willow smiled brightly. “Now shoo. If we’re going to save the baby, I can’t be trying to convince you that I’m really not the Wicked Witch of the West.”

Oz retreated to the doorway, watching Havi, Spike, and Willow argue between themselves about the plans spread out on the table. Before he could speak up again, they disappeared.

A strong hand came down on his shoulder, prompting him to glance back at Graham’s solemn face. “The van’s loaded,” he said. “We need to go.”

Though he would drive like a maniac to get to the Initiative entrance Graham wanted on campus, Oz knew it would be nothing compared to what Willow was doing. She was there already, fighting for the one thing that could help Buffy the most.

Oz only hoped they weren’t too late to save the baby.

* * *

It was taking all of his power to concentrate on Willow and not let loose the rage that boiled in the pit of his stomach. She’d teleported them to the same entrance they’d used to rescue Harris, and now they stood within the belly of the Initiative, staring at the same hallways, plotting another search mission. It was too quiet, and the silence made his skin crawl.

Buffy was here. All their evidence had given the underground station as her location, and Spike knew he couldn’t argue with it. But there wasn’t even a whiff of her sweat lingering on the air, not a familiar pulse to make his body sing. He was left feeling handcuffed, only able to follow Willow like a puppy dog and hope that she found Buffy in time.

Time was tunneling around them. Though he’d been in the cavern just a few minutes before, Spike was convinced that each second was stretching longer than the one previous, weakening their chances of helping the baby before it was too late. He followed after Willow as she led them through empty corridors, hating that each step was so careful, so methodical, knowing that they had to be if they wanted to escape detection. All he could hear was his heavy boots echoing against the cement.

She stopped before a steel door marked “Restricted.” From the other side, Spike could hear the distant wail of alarms and muffled masculine shouts, and he shouldered past Havi to reach for the curved handle, determined to snap it off and get through to Buffy.

“Don’t.”

Willow’s fingers were hot against his hand, and he froze as she guided it to the control panel by the jamb. Curving her palm around the back of his hand, she muttered something Latin under her breath.

Electricity surged through him, the feeling of power being sucked away pulling at his gut. The panel sparked beneath his palm and the door slid silently open.

“Next time, warn a bloke,” he chastised as she led the way inside.

“Deal,” she replied.

He didn’t know how she was using landmarks to navigate when every hall looked like the one last, but with a step too determined to deny, Willow led them deeper into the complex, every foot going just a little bit quicker. The voices turned into a din. More than one soldier came rushing through, and when she took the same path as the third, Spike realized she was using them as beacons for Buffy.

They came to a stop before a large window. The soldiers that stood in the hall were oblivious to their presence, absorbed in watching what was happening on the other side of the glass.

“Why is it nobody seems to care that we are here?” Havi asked.

“I cast a spell that makes us blend in a bit more,” Willow explained. She pushed her way past a soldier nearly twice her size in order to get closer to the window.

“Good idea, Red.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank Xander’s D&D phase.”

The smile that had started to creep across her face disappeared as she was finally able to see through the glass. Spike heard Havi’s sharp intake of breath behind him and cursed his lack of stature that made it impossible to see over the other men’s heads.

“Spike?” Willow asked. Her voice was faint, and she edged backward, reaching blindly to grab onto his coat and Havi’s hand. “Hang on.”

* * *

His vertigo at her teleportation was nothing compared to seeing the chaos frozen in time around him. Bodies stopped in mid-stoop, mid-reach, mid-speech, like some cosmic power had called, “Statues,” for everyone but the trio.

“I hit the pause button,” Willow said when she saw the confusion on his and Havi’s faces. “It’s not going to last long, but it should buy us a minute or two to see what’s wrong with Buffy.”

“I thought without Esme’s power that your magic was not capable of such things,” Havi questioned.

“It’s probably part of joining the Guardians,” she explained, scurrying to the side of the lone bed in the room. Spike and Havi were forced to stand at the foot; there were too many white coats surrounding it elsewhere. “I’m not questioning it right now.”

Though she slept, his Slayer was very obviously in pain, her face contorted into a grimace that matched those he’d seen back in their dreams. The doctors had pulled back the blanket and pushed up her top in order to expose her swollen stomach, glistening with the jelly they used for the ultrasound that was pressed against the swell.

“Red…” It was choked from his throat, his eyes burning as he stared at the woman he loved lying so helplessly in front of him. Willow’s pause spell had done more than stop the humans from moving around; it had stopped their bodily functions as well. The only hearts he could hear were hers and Havi’s.

“I know,” she said. Placing her palm over Buffy’s abdomen, she glanced over at the silent monitors before closing her eyes to concentrate. “Just give me a second, OK?”

Spike bit his tongue to keep from responding. The coppery tang of blood slowly filled his mouth as Willow stood there motionless, and he mentally counted off the moments as he waited for her to say something. _Do_ something. Do _anything_ but leave him hanging there, wondering what in hell was going on with the two most important people in the world to him.

He saw her face begin to crumple milliseconds before the first tears threatened to spill, clinging to her lashes with Red’s characteristic tenacity. “No…” she whispered, and that single faint syllable was enough to chill Spike to the bone.

“What?” he demanded, her instructions be damned. “What’s wrong?”

Her fingers were trembling as she pulled her hand away, but when she opened her eyes, she dropped her head at the same time, making it impossible for Spike to see what was going on inside her head. “It _was_ Esme,” she said. “We were right about that. Her signature’s all over Buffy and the ba…” A sob cut off the last word, and she choked as she tried to swallow it back down. The tears that had refused to let go of her lashes started to fall.

“No.” With a vicious shove, Spike pushed the nearest doctors out of his way, sending them sprawling to the floor as he fought to get to Willow’s side. “I had to have been wrong about the little one,” he rushed. “The reason I can’t hear it now is because of the magic. It’s not because of anything else…right?” He grabbed her elbow, jerking her to turn and face him. “Bloody hell, tell me I was wrong, Red!”

Her eyes were wet and luminous, fixed to his face. “The baby’s dying,” she said. “It’s…shutting down, which is why you probably thought you couldn’t hear the heartbeat any more. The pains Buffy’s feeling…she’s miscarrying, Spike.”

Even while he’d been confronted with that very distinct possibility back in the dream park, a part of Spike had held on to the hope that it was something else, that there were other factors to blame, that the nightmare threatening to consume them wasn’t about the little one. Now, hearing Willow’s quiet declaration, so simple and incontrovertible, that hope was ripped out of his hands, out of his heart, leaving him torn and bleeding and wishing more than ever that he’d never woken up from the fucking dream in the first place.

His hand was shaking as he reached to touch Buffy, resting it next to Willow’s. The gel felt cool, even to him, but it was the stillness beneath the skin that stabbed the deepest.

“What did that bitch _do_?” he growled. “Because I’m bloody well goin’ to give it back a thousandfold. I’ll make the witch drown in her own blood, right before I hang her up by her own entrails, and then cut her down so that I can do it all over again.”

The smell of Willow’s sweat began to fill the room. “She didn’t harm Buffy, if that’s any consolation,” she said.

“It’s not. This is goin’ to kill Buffy, and you know it. Now tell me what that bitch did to my child.”

Willow swallowed. “She killed its soul. The human body can’t live without it. That’s why it’s dying.”

Spike’s head snapped up, hope suddenly flooding back in a torrential flood. “But you can fix that,” he said. His eyes blazed. “You did it with Angel. Now you can do it for someone who actually matters.”

“I can’t.” It wasn’t just her voice beseeching him to hear her; it was the glow in her blacked eyes. “It’s not that the baby’s soul isn’t there, Spike. It’s _gone_. Destroyed. There’s nothing there for me to put back.”

Her belief in what she said was as undeniable as her earlier explanations. Spike stared at her, the air thick and leaden around his ears, as if waiting would make time flow in the opposite direction and reverse what she avowed.

Behind them, one of the doctors he’d pushed over started to stir, and the faintest of heartbeats began to fill the room again. Willow’s spell was wearing off.

His mind raced. There had to be something he could do. Miracles like this didn’t happen just to be yanked out of his hands; he’d lived too long and fought too hard to give up something as precious as this.

“We need to get out of here,” Willow was saying. “There’s nothing we can do---.”

Spike grabbed her arm to prevent her from walking away. “We’re not goin’ anywhere,” he said. “We can fix this. We have to.”

She shook her head, sorrow weighing down the motion. “You’re not listening to me.”

“I am. But I’m not givin’ up. Buffy wouldn’t.”

The Slayer’s name was a dare, and he saw Willow’s lips thin as she pressed them together. “There’s no soul there,” she said carefully. “If there was, trust me, I’d do everything I could to try and save the baby, but I can’t make something out of nothing, Spike. I couldn’t have done that even with Esme’s power.”

_No soul. No soul._ The words bounced around inside his skull. He thought his head would shatter from the force of them trying to escape.

“Use mine, then.”

He blurted the words without even thinking, but as soon as they were out, Spike recognized it was the opportunity it was. Even when Willow gaped at him in disbelief, he pushed on.

“I know you were messin’ about with tryin’ to restore my soul,” he said. “If the little one’s is gone, what’s stoppin’ you from tryin’ to give it mine?”

“I…I…” She interrupted her stammering to lick her dry lips. “But it’s _yours_ ,” she argued. “I mean, yeah, OK, you don’t actually _have_ it, but it was a part of you, and what if someday you decide you want it? There’s no take-backs on this spell.”

His jaw hurt from how tightly he was clenching it. “If the little one dies, trust me, Red. The last thing I’m goin’ to want is something that’s just goin’ to make the pain of it a thousand times worse.”

Her gaze flitted to the side as she contemplated the idea, but all too quickly, she was shaking her head again. “I never even tried the spell. I don’t know if it’ll even work.”

“Then tell me, what exactly do we have to lose?”

One of the monitors sprang to life, emitting a shrill beep as the system reset itself. Willow jumped at the sound, her head snapping around to stare at the flashing red lights before turning back to face Spike.

“Nothing,” she said. She grabbed his hand and entwined their fingers, then guided him to Buffy’s stomach. A charge leapt between them, and any remaining color disappeared from her eyes. “You wanted warning next time, right? Consider this it.”


	59. The Lesson True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet CXVIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Willow teleported an awake Spike back to the Summers’ house where the rest of the gang was about to head out to storm the Initiative in hopes of retrieving Buffy. Willow then teleported herself, Spike, and Havi directly to the Initiative in an attempt to find out and help with what was going on with the baby. After getting in to see Buffy, Willow learned that Esme’s spell had destroyed the baby’s soul, and that the baby was dying. Spike was unwilling to just let that happen and told Willow to use his instead…

Spike expected it to burn. Between witnessing Willow’s magic over the past few months and remembering the scant details he’d heard about Angel’s re-souling, he figured his role in Red’s spell for the little one would hurt more than a mite. That was all right. He’d walk through Hell itself to save the baby.

Which was good because that’s exactly what it felt like he was doing.

As soon as Willow finished the incantation, a bolt of pain more intense than anything he’d ever felt before shot through his body, making his back arch, alerting every demonic instinct in him to tear away from the inferno streaking its way up his arm. The human instinct was stronger, though, as was the witch’s grip, refusing to let Spike break the physical connection he had with Buffy and the baby. But in the midst of the mind-numbing pain was something else. Something familiar. A voice he hadn’t heard in over a century.

“It’s the right thing,” she said. He couldn’t see her, but there was no mistaking the scent of his mother’s perfume, forgotten all these long years. She hovered in the periphery of his awareness, beyond the reach of the pain but there nonetheless. Spike just had no idea why.

“This thing you do, this choice you make,” Anne continued. “You make me proud to be your mother, William. And I am certain that Buffy would be just as proud.”

He didn’t need the words of encouragement—hell, Spike wasn’t even sure he wasn’t hallucinating the whole thing—but the notion that his soul was in the same place as his mother’s gave him hope for the little one.

“I always knew you were a good man, my son,” she whispered.

A vicious flare within his chest ripped him away from his unexpected sanctuary, and suddenly Spike’s eyes shot wide, blind to the military room around him. There was a fresh weight within his body, and it carried with it a grief that made the poet in him want to pull his hair out and weep. Tears burned, spilling down his cheeks as horrors unfolded before him, rivers of blood and innocent screams that dared to rip through his sanity.

Then a new voice. Just as familiar. Just as strong.

“We’re halfway there, Spike,” Willow said. “Hang on.”

He almost giggled hysterically. Too bad the witch didn’t realize just how badly his fingernails were bleeding already.

* * *

Havi had been stunned into silence long before Willow started the spell. Hearing a vampire relinquish the lone thing that could separate him from the demonic hordes was unprecedented. She knew Spike cared for Buffy and the baby, but she had never imagined that it plumbed to those kind of depths. The magnitude of the sacrifice was staggering.

His roar of pain when the incantation was complete made Havi jump back, senses alert to a fight even though she knew there was no actual risk from the Spike she knew. His features shifted from human to vampire in the space of a single blink, but somehow, Willow kept him from moving away from the bed, both of their arms corded from the tension rippling through them. Buffy remained still. The only noises were the growing beeps from the machines around them.

When Spike started crying, Havi closed her eyes. She could not watch. It wasn’t right.

It was the voice of an unknown male that snapped her out of her waiting.

“Who let these people in here?”

She reacted as she’d been taught. Before any of the soldiers could lift a weapon, Havi disarmed the nearest and used the gun’s butt to knock out the man at his side. When the door opened behind her, her foot shot out and slammed it closed again. A muffled scream rang out from the other side.

“Stay away from the bed,” she ordered when the doctor appeared to start nearing it.

He stared at her as if she were crazy. “Ms. Summers is in serious need of medical attention. Private--.”

Havi jerked the gun toward the young soldier who’d started to advance toward her. “Nobody touches Ms. Summers until my friends are done.” She tried not to listen to Willow’s ragged breathing, tried to ignore Spike’s pained grunts.

“Her baby is in distress! If we don’t help her--.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a second soldier begin to creep forward as the doctor spoke. Havi didn’t take her eyes off the white coat, but swung the gun to the side, squeezing the trigger.

The soldier screamed and fell to the floor, clutching his knee. All Initiative eyes jerked to the writhing man and the blood already staining the floor, and then came back to an impassive Havi. All were stunned into immobility.

“Nobody touches Ms. Summers,” she repeated.

* * *

The pains changed.

At some point, curled into a ball within the grass, wishing that she had her mother, that she had Spike, that she had her mother _and_ Spike, Buffy became aware that the waves through her abdomen were shifting. They were still painful, still frightening, and she _desperately_ wanted to get her hands on whoever or whatever might be responsible, but as she laid there with her eyes squeezed shut, she could’ve sworn there was something new.

Warmth.

Like she was being immersed in a steaming hot bath and leaning back into Spike.

Soft whispers in the back of her mind corrected that.

It felt like she was being surrounded by _William_.

For the first time since the pains had started, tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, William. I did everything I could. I wanted this so badly. For both of us.”

The gentle caress of a voice made the tears lessen almost immediately. “You are the bravest, strongest woman I have ever known, Buffy,” she heard William say. “Don’t give up on us.”

“Never.”

“Do you remember what I told you? On the banks?”

She smiled in spite of the pain. “We spent a lot of time on the banks.”

“It was the night I gave you the new poem. When…we spoke of what might happen if it were possible for you to stay.”

How could she forget?

_Her hand had slipped into his pocket and found the paper he’d so consciously remembered to bring, and William froze as she opened it to scan its contents. She didn’t look up when she was done, but instead returned her gaze to the top of the page, swollen lips mouthing the words he’d written to complete the poem he’d composed during their first joining in the dreams. When she reached the final verse, he recited it aloud as she read._

“ _But I was lost in a place ‘tween the sun and moon,_  
 _Where firm and figment merged this June,_  
 _And even beyond that place ‘tween moon and sun,_  
 _My love that burns for her is legion.”_

_She was smiling when he finished, her fingers tracing over the careful script on the paper. “You changed it,” Buffy murmured, and looked up to see him frowning._

“ _You…remember what the original was?” he asked._

“ _Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”_

_When she started to hand it back to him, he folded her fingers around the edge and pushed it toward her. “It’s yours,” William said. “I wrote it for you.”_

“ _But why would you change it?”_

_This was what he wanted her to know; this was what had spurred him to write so furiously after their fencing bout. The shift in tense in those few lines made all the difference to him._

“ _Because I’m not lost anymore,” William said softly. “No matter what happens, no matter where the next bend in our paths takes us, you’ve shown me that fear doesn’t have to hold me back. That I have it in me to forge onward, even if hindrances may try to prevent me from doing so. This is your true gift, Buffy. You make those who love you stronger.”_

“I shall be strong,” William said, though his voice was growing even fainter. “I promise you that.”

“William?”

But the voice was gone. And the warmth was ebbing.

Struggling, Buffy sat up, wiping at her face. Newfound resolve surged through her, and she wobbled to her feet. Maybe walking would ease the pain, she thought.

But before she could take a single step, the park disappeared.

* * *

They came to a halt at a junction of hallways. “Do you see any problems reaching the containment area?” Giles asked, eyes glued to the swarm of soldiers that were converging on a restricted door.

“No,” Graham replied. He jerked his head in the opposite direction. “Cells are that way.”

“And you’ll only open those we agreed upon, correct?

“I’ll make sure,” Oz said. “Just vampires, like you said.”

“And only enough to distract the soldiers,” Giles said, raising a warning finger. “We don’t want a massacre. We merely want a diversion.”

Xander grinned. “Am I the only one who finds it ironic that we’ve started thinking of vampires as the fluffy bunny of the demon set?”

“Don’t linger in the containment area,” Wesley instructed. “We don’t know how much resistance we’ll discover when we find Buffy. The more men we have, the better our odds.”

“Fighters, you mean.” At their frowns, Xander shrugged. “It’s just that Havi’s _definitely_ not a man, and I know for a fact that she can probably kick most of our butts. Collectively, even.”

“Fighters, then.”

“I’ll be on the lookout for Maggie,” Robin said. “She’s my responsibility.”

“ _Buffy’s_ our responsibility,” Giles corrected. “Now, let’s go.”

* * *

Maggie hadn’t expected to see so many soldiers blocking the corridors. “Why aren’t you at your posts?” she barked as she pressed her way through the throng.

“There’s a disturbance of unknown origins in one of the infirmary rooms,” a buck-toothed private said. “We’re trying to gain entrance, but the doctor’s been taken hostage and they’ve already shot one of the guards who was inside.”

“They? How many hostiles are we talking about?”

“Three, ma’am. But as far as we can tell, at least one of them appears to be human.”

“And the old woman?”

The private stared at her. “There’s no old woman. Two young females and a male vampire.”

Maggie continued walking, processing the new information. The old woman was obviously a witch, she’d already deduced. She’d taken Maggie’s form in order to gain entrance to Buffy’s room, and now she had changed into someone else in order to avoid detection. Maggie had no idea who the others might be.

The door was firmly closed, and one soldier leaned against the wall next to it with his head tilted back. Blood dripped from his broken nose. He tried to snap to attention when she approached, but she waved him down, pushing through to the spectator window in order to see what was going on.

At least one new face in the room was familiar. Next to an alert Buffy, Willow Rosenberg was attempting to calm her friend down, hands on her shoulders while she tried to keep her in a supine position. A tall, austere young woman was poised near the door with one of the soldier’s weapons, keeping the rest of the staff away from the bed, while the vampire, dressed in black leather, was slumped against the foot. Though his lips were moving, Maggie couldn’t hear what was being said.

“Get the speakers turned on _now_!” she barked. “I want to know what’s going on in there.”

She didn’t take her eyes of the tableau in front of her while two soldiers scrambled to satisfy the order.

“…to her,” the vampire was saying.

Buffy had calmed slightly in the few seconds it had taken to get audio, and her eyes were glued on the blond demon. What concerned Maggie was the way the Slayer kept clutching her stomach. When she’d called, the soldier had said the monitors were going crazy. Was Buffy in labor?

“You know what was happening?” Buffy asked.

The vampire nodded. “But we don’t have time to suss it all right now.” Though he was attempting to sound strong, Maggie could tell that he’d been seriously injured in some fashion. His shoulders were slumped and he kept passing a weary hand over his eyes. There was no blood on the floor, however. She wondered what was causing him so much pain.

“The others will be here any minute,” Willow said.

“How many times do I have to tell you people this?” Dr. Wilson piped up from the far wall. “She needs medical attention, and she needs it now.”

Without a trace of emotion, the young woman with the gun swung her arm and shot at the doctor. Maggie flinched almost as strongly as Wilson did when the shower of plaster rained down on top of his head.

“You were told not to speak,” she said in an oddly accented voice. “Next time, I will not miss.”

Before Buffy could argue, an alarm began to peal throughout the complex, the corridor suddenly bathed in red. Half the soldiers took off in a dead run, heading toward the containment cells. When Maggie noticed that the intruders inside weren’t bothered by the alarms, it took only a moment for her to put two and two together.

“Stand your ground!” she ordered. Turning away from the window, she shifted to block others from leaving. “It’s a hoax. They’re trying to create a diversion.”

“But…the hostiles,” a nearby soldier stammered.

“Are not loose,” she finished. “Ms. Summers’ friends are attempting to get her out.”

Something hard prodded in the small of her back, but before Maggie could shift to tell the soldier behind her to mind his weapon, a familiar voice whispered in her ear.

“It’s actually _not_ a hoax,” Robin said. “And if you don’t want to be in a wheelchair for the rest of your life, I suggest you let them go do their job.”

Though she had no idea why he was doing this, she knew it was a gun he had on her. The fact that none of the soldiers were reacting meant they couldn’t see the weapon. She really had no choice.

“Go,” she said tightly to the nearest soldier.

“But you just said---.”

“I _know_ what I just said, and now I’m telling you to go contain the hostiles! That’s an order, private!”

One look at her unyielding face and the soldiers went scattering, pushing past to race to the source of the alarm.

Maggie was surprised when they weren’t left alone, though. Robin guided her away from the door, drawing three other men into her line of sight. Her eyes widened slightly upon recognizing Xander.

“Your vision’s improved,” she commented.

He scowled but remained silent. The oldest man of the group stepped forward to the window and tapped on the glass, drawing the armed young woman’s attention.

“They’re here,” she said to the others in the room.

Maggie was moved further along the wall, losing her vantage point to watch what was going on inside. When the door opened, the vampire held it wide.

“’Bout time,” he complained. “Red and I are about done in.”

All the men but Robin moved to enter, but they were stopped when the oldest came to a halt just across the threshold.

“Where’s Willow?” Maggie heard him say.

* * *

When Giles knocked at the window, it wasn’t just Havi who looked to see. Willow and Spike did as well, and Willow decided then and there that she’d never been so glad to see anyone in her entire life.

Then, of course, she felt the familiar tug of magic in the pit of her stomach, and the room faded around her. When she blinked next, she was standing next to the Well.

She wasn’t alone.

“Congratulations, Willow,” Rose said with a gentle smile. “You have no idea how pleased we are with you.”

She blinked again. “You’re dead.”

Rose’s smile warmed even more. “Technically, yes, but because I’m the one who set you on this path, I requested to be the one to speak with you now. The others…” Her head tilted as if she were listening to someone unseen to Willow. “…were reluctant to disturb my rest.”

Willow took a step closer. Though Rose looked solid, there was a gossamer quality to her outline that told otherwise. It was just a little creepy. “What are you congratulating me for?” she asked.

“For passing, of course.”

It took a moment for the meaning to sink in. When it did, righteous fury swelled within Willow’s stomach.

“If you’re trying to tell me this was all some kind of test,” she said, and she could feel the energy start to spark between her fingertips, in spite of her exhaustion, “so help me, Buffy isn’t the only one you’re going to have to worry about kicking your ass.”

“It was, but not the sort you believe.” Rose gestured toward the edge of the Well. “Sit. Let me explain.”

The last thing Willow wanted was to blithely follow whatever instruction Rose was doling out, but she was tired from the effects of helping Buffy and sitting sounded like a really good idea anyway. She didn’t take her eyes off the Guardian as she did, though, and she stubbornly held herself more stiffly than she normally would to prove she wouldn’t relax completely.

“You are not a Guardian, Willow.”

Saying she wasn’t a girl would’ve been less shocking. “What?” Willow blinked in confusion. “But…I had more power…and the Well…we did that…thing.” Her pout was inevitable. “There was chanting.”

“You were given a small boost with your magic,” Rose explained. “Both to let you think that you had joined the ranks and to give you the power necessary to wake William.”

“But the souling spell--.”

“Was all you,” Rose finished. “The test I speak of was that to determine whether or not you were worthy of the honor.” She smiled. “You more than surpassed my expectations.”

The possibilities flitted through her head so rapidly, Willow couldn’t grasp onto any one in order to make sense of it. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Are you saying you let Buffy’s baby get hurt just to see if I could save it? Because that’s just---.”

“No.” Rose was quick to cut her off. Taking a deep breath, she came to sit down next to her, the energy of her form creating a buzz along Willow’s skin. “Do you know why I left London last summer?” she asked.

“How could I? Nobody’s seen you since then.”

“I had a vision. And it terrified me.”

“What…what did you see?”

Rose was silent for a long moment. “I saw Esme win. I saw Buffy’s child die, and I saw a Slayer and a vampire go mad with grief.” She began pleating the fabric of her dress, her voice soft. “I often think that my visions are as much a curse as they are a blessing.”

“What does that have to do with me?” Willow swallowed down the lump that had formed in her throat. “Did my spell…not work?”

Instinctively, Rose reached out to pat her hand in reassurance, but remembered her incorporeal state in time. “Your spell was a miracle,” she said. “It was your test. To see if you had it within you to take on Guardian duties. The others were not pleased I brought William into it, but for me, he proved his diligence. He followed Havi and myself to find the answers he wanted, and only gave up when my death thwarted his efforts. His arrival here in Sunnydale didn’t necessarily start changing the potential outcome for the baby, but it did contribute. None of us knew if you could do it, or really, _how_ you would. We just knew you had to be given the opportunity to try.” She smiled. “And you were splendid. That spell…it had nothing to do with Guardian power, Willow. That was entirely yours.”

The praise was overwhelming, but somehow she managed to murmur, “It was Spike’s, too. He’s the one who insisted I try using his soul to save the baby.”

Rose laughed. “And you have no idea how that is flummoxing a great deal of the higher powers,” she said. “A vampire volunteering such a selfless act? An _unsouled_ vampire? There are many convinced this child _is_ the next apocalypse.”

“So…it worked?” It was almost too much to hope for. “Schmoo’s all right?”

The Guardian sobered. “All right is not completely accurate,” she said carefully. “But it has a soul again, and most importantly, it has a fighting chance.”

Willow hadn’t known just how wound up she was until she heard that her spell had worked. The sobs ripped from her throat, relief and exhaustion spending themselves from her thin frame, and she buried her face in her hands as she wept. She had seen the torment Spike had gone through during the course of the re-souling; she knew exactly how devastated Buffy would have been if the baby had died. All any of them ever wanted was the right to live like any other human being. It was in the doctors’ hands now.

Her head snapped up as a frightening thought came to mind. “Esme,” she said. “You said, she won. Is that still true?”

Rose hesitated. “It is impossible to know for certain. My visions ceased when I died, and already, the world is a different place to the one I saw.”

“So we still have to stop her.”

“Yes. Destroying the baby’s soul would have been very draining for her, but she will regroup quickly. Her power grows stronger with every passing hour.”

Willow leapt to her feet. “She’s going to go after Buffy again as soon as she has a chance,” she said. “She needs her for whatever she thinks she’s going to get from the artifacts.”

“You know about the artifacts?”

“Kind of, in the very non-specific sense. I know Esme wants them, which means we have to stop her from getting them. If we even knew where they are.”

The water in the Well began to bubble and churn, drawing Willow’s eyes to the rippling surface. “The Guardians protect the artifacts until it becomes necessary for them to be used,” the crystalline voice from the Well said.

“But we still have to figure out how to stop her,” Willow argued. “We have to hit her while she is still weak.”

“There is only one way to stop Esme,” Rose said. Her face was solemn. “Give her what she wants.”


	60. The World Without End Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet LVII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Havi kept the soldiers away while Willow and Spike did the souling spell, and the rest of the gang showed up to create the diversion to get Buffy out, only to discover that Willow was gone from Buffy’s room; Willow learned from Rose that they changed a vision that Rose had regarding Buffy’s baby and that she’s passed the test the Guardians set to determine her worthiness in joining them…

Truth be told, these were not circumstances Giles had ever believed he’d be in. The potential of Buffy’s pregnancy ending in an operating room had always been there, but her excellent health and the superb attention she, Joyce, and Spike had given to the baby’s wellbeing had convinced Giles that she would carry to term and he would forever have to tolerate stories afterward about the pains of natural labor.

He had never anticipated pacing in an emergency room, waiting for news from the operating theater about whether either mother or child would survive a nasty bit of magic.

Willow’s unexpected absence from the Initiative infirmary had worried everyone, but Spike—in spite of his weakened condition—had started barking out commands to get Buffy to hospital. There had been little choice but to act; a phone call to Joyce had ensured that the hospital would be prepared for them when they arrived. It had only taken a first reading from the monitors for the staff to take Buffy immediately into surgery.

Now they could only wait.

Graham and Oz were speaking quietly in the corner, a silent Robin and Wesley at their side. Giles’ initial fears about Willow had encompassed Oz’s reaction as well, but the young man hadn’t seemed nearly as disturbed with this disappearance as he had her earlier one.

“She’s a Guardian now,” he’d said. “I have a feeling she’s going to be investing in some mystical frequent flyer miles.”

Havi leaned heavily against Xander in seats near the vending machines. Her explanation about what had happened had shocked all of them during the ride to the hospital. Being in the van with Buffy and Spike, Oz had only learned the details after they’d arrived. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t appear to shock him in the slightest.

Joyce merely sat there, staring at the closed doors that led to the bowels of the hospital. She hadn’t said a word since Buffy had been rushed back.

Giles sighed, stopping in his paces to rub wearily at his eyes. It was remarkable to consider just how much had been sacrificed for the sake of this one child; the possibility that Spike would give up his only chance to atone for his past misdeeds to save it was boggling, to say the least. He simply hoped that for Buffy’s sake, the sacrifice had been worth it. The magical damage had been fixed. It was now up to modern science to do the rest.

* * *

Knackered didn’t even begin to cover just how tired Spike was. The spell had drained him more than he could ever have imagined, but seeing Buffy wake up, hearing her voice and Willow’s assertions that she was fairly sure the spell had worked, had rejuvenated him enough to get her out of there once the witch had scarpered off. Another of those teleportation spells would have come in handy, but he’d give her scratch about that later. After Buffy and the baby were safe.

In spite of the results of the spell, the little one was still in distress, and the doctors had rushed Buffy into surgery for an emergency c-section. She was pale and terrified, but did everything she was told, silent throughout the entire anesthesia while they prepped Spike in the next room. It was only when he was sitting on a stool at her head, holding her hand as the blood pressure cuff attached to her bicep expanded and deflated periodically, that she spoke up.

“I love you,” she whispered. She didn’t look at him, her eyes fixed on the ceiling overhead, but he could see the shine in her eyes. “No matter what happens, I’ll always love you.”

Her fatalism made him angry, and he leaned forward, pressing his mouth to her ear so that the others in the room couldn’t hear him. “Nothing’s goin’ to happen,” Spike said. “Nothing bad. You and me, we’re fighters, understand? We’re the same. It’s goin’ to take more than one witch to bring us down.”

“It’s not us I’m worried about.” When a spray of blood unexpectedly splattered on the sheet hanging just below her breasts, blocking her view of her lower body, she winced. “It’s the baby.”

“Then you’re worrying for nothing,” he scolded. “Me and Red took care of the magic part. And do you really think I’d let anyone but the best doctors near you? They bugger anything up, and this town will never know such misery as what I’ll wreak.”

A faint sound came from her throat that could have been a chuckle. “Yeah, because I’m just going to _let_ you do that.” She squeezed his hand. “What you did, though, with Willow? It was amazing.”

Spike sat heavily back on his stool. His legs were starting to quiver from exhaustion. “Not really.”

Her eyes followed his descent, her head turning just enough to make it comfortable. “I know what you offered, Spike. What you gave up. That’s huge.”

He took a moment to respond, trying to block out the scent of Buffy’s blood so thick in the air. “It’s the same you would’ve done, put in the same place,” he said quietly, then smiled. “’Sides, if there’s one thing in this world I know I can do with my eyes shut, it’s love someone. There was never a question ‘bout it, Buffy. All I did was what had to be done.”

A sudden shift in the medical personnel, tilts of heads to peer beyond the sheet, accompanied a fresh scent within the room. Before Spike could stand up to see what was going on, he heard a suctioning followed by a muffled gurgle.

“He’s out,” the head doctor said.

Spike snapped back to see Buffy staring at him. Everything stopped. “He?” she whispered. Tremulous. Hopeful. Terrified.

“It’s a boy,” the doctor said. A small cry filled the room. “And for such a little thing, he’s a hell of a fighter.”

Buffy’s hand gripped Spike’s so tightly, he felt his bones shift. “Is he all right?”

The question was directed to the doctor, but Spike took it upon himself to stand and pull away from her, moving down so that he could see what was going on. He _needed_ to know.

They were already taking the baby away from the table, its limbs covered in red and white fluids only half of which he recognized. Though Spike hung back, his eyes searched for the tiny feet and even tinier hands, counting digits automatically and then choking back an exhausted giggle at how quickly he’d fallen into overprotective father mode. But what convinced him not to intervene, what called out to him as surely as it had all those months ago when he’d first heard the echoes in Buffy’s body, was the little one’s heartbeat.

Steady.

Strong.

Spike smiled.

“He’s perfect, luv,” he said. “He’s got your fire.”

So absorbed in watching the nurse tend to the baby— _his son_ —Spike didn’t notice what the doctors were doing until the other heartbeat in the room he cared so much about slowed. He jerked back and saw the anesthetist holding a mask over Buffy’s face, her eyes closed.

“What are you doing?” he asked, alarmed.

“Mr. Freston…” The other nurse took his arm and tried to lead him away from the table. “The doctors need to see to Ms. Summers now. Her vitals aren’t as stable as they’d like, so they’ve just decided to let her rest a little while they sew her up. We’re going to have to ask you to leave the room.”

“No!” He pulled away so hard that the young woman cried out in pain. “I’m not leaving them.”

“It’s hospital procedure--.”

“Fuck bloody procedure!” He hadn’t come this far just to be sent away like a small child.

She stepped forward again, this time resting a hand carefully on his arm. When she spoke, her voice was deliberately soothing. “It will only be for ten or fifteen minutes,” she said. “Once Ms. Summers is done, she’ll be placed in a private room and you can see her as soon as she’s settled.”

His head twisted toward Buffy. There was nothing alarming about her body’s rhythms, and he could see the careful stitches the doctor was sewing in her abdomen. Though all they were doing was closing the incisions, Spike hated the idea of just leaving her alone. He wanted to be there when she woke up.

“You can be,” the nurse said when he voiced his concerns. “It’ll take awhile for the anesthesia to wear off.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the first nurse heading for the door, his son cradled within her arms. Spike was stopped from bolting after her by the tightening of the second nurse’s grip.

“These first few hours are a critical time for your son,” she said. “He needs to be closely monitored, so they’re taking him to NICU. I’m sure you realize he’s very premature, and, yes, he’s strong, but we need to do everything in our power to make sure he gets all the help he can right now. Please, Mr. Freston. Let us do our job.”

He didn’t want to give in. He’d sworn to Buffy and he’d sworn to himself that he would do everything to protect their child. But what could he really do here? He didn’t know anything about pediatric medicine. All he would be doing was watching and getting in their way. It so happened those were two things he was very good at, but somehow, in the hospital milieu, Spike was suddenly unsure if that was appropriate.

“You have family waiting for news, right?” the nurse asked. “Why don’t you go and tell them? By the time you’re done, Ms. Summers should be in recovery.”

Reminders of the others in the waiting room—especially Joyce—made his mind up. With a curt nod, he allowed himself to be led from the room and stripped of the hospital kit they’d insisted he wear during the operation. Didn’t matter that a bloke couldn’t spread germs, but that was a fight for another day. Then it was down antiseptic hallways, trying to block out the scents of death and disease that lingered no matter how much the staff tried to scrub them away. He concentrated instead on images of the baby— _his son, fuck, he was never going to get tired of thinking that_ —and what it would be like to see Buffy holding him.

By the time he reached the waiting room, Spike was grinning. He met Joyce’s eyes first; this was her family, too.

“Well?” Leave it to Harris to jump in before Spike could get his moment. “How’s Buffy? And the baby? Did we get here in time? Did--?”

Giles held up a hand to cut him off. “Give him a chance to speak, Xander.”

Silently, Spike thanked the Watcher. “Buffy’s fine,” he said. “Came through it with flyin’ colors. Little one’s doin’ well, too. Doc says he’s small but scrappy.”

“Sounds like he’s the spittin’ image of his parents already,” Xander quipped

Ignoring the levity, Joyce took a step forward. “He?” she questioned. “It’s a boy?”

His smile softened, and he closed the distance between them to gather her into a warm hug. “Yeah,” he murmured. His gaze met Rupert’s, and a charge of pride surged through him when he saw the acceptance there. In spite of everything that had happened that day and the obstacles they had yet to overcome, the world had never been a better place. “I have a son.”

* * *

The last thing Esme expected to find at the underground military base was chaos. Yes, she had left amid intruder alarms and doctors fighting to save Buffy, but that should have been only temporary. It certainly didn’t account for the dead soldiers she saw being rolled away, or the vampire dust that seemed to clog her pores. Something had happened in her absence, something bigger than a magical intruder.

When she teleported into Buffy’s empty room, she realized exactly what that had been.

She didn’t loiter. One person was going to know what had happened to the Slayer—the Slayer she still needed—and Esme had every intention of using whatever means necessary to get what she wanted.

A soldier on a gurney blocked her path. His pants had been ripped from the thigh down to allow him to hold a bandage to his bleeding knee. When he saw her, he tried to sit up.

“You’re not authorized personnel,” he said. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

She rolled her eyes. She didn’t have time for this right now. “Sleep,” she commanded, and watched as he pitched to the side, his hand falling away from his wound as he dropped immediately into unconsciousness.

Esme frowned, taking a step forward. It was a bullet wound he’d been covering. Soldiers shooting soldiers? That didn’t make sense.

One of the Slayer’s friends shooting soldiers, however, did.

She wasn’t going to find Buffy Summers here. The Slayer’s friends had already done Esme’s dirty work and got her free from the military’s clutches. In her condition, that left only one place for them to take her.

* * *

Buffy woke up feeling like her lower body was made of lead, but the moment she saw Spike’s glowing face, any fears she had vanished. He was physically incapable of hiding his feelings. If anything had been seriously wrong with the baby, more than just being way premature, she would have known just from looking in Spike’s eyes.

He squeezed her hand as soon as he saw she was awake, leaning in to brush feather kisses across her brow. “You’re a bloody miracle, you know that?” he murmured.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. “All I had to do was lie there. Even I can’t screw that up.” Buffy tried to sit up, but quit after only a peremptory struggle. There was no way her legs and lower back were ready to work yet, and she scowled at her useless lower half.

“Are you sure they got the baby out?” she complained. “I still look pregnant.”

Spike laughed when she poked at her rounded tummy. “Took you more than a few hours to get that big,” he teased. “Reckon it’ll take you more than a few to get rid of it.”

Her lip jutted out in a pout. “You think I’m fat.”

“Great,” he muttered good-naturedly. “More raging hormones. Just what I bloody need.” When she slapped at him, he laughed again. Buffy thought she’d never seen him look so happy before.

“So…did you see him?” she asked. “Is he all right?”

Mention of the baby softened Spike’s features, and his hand returned to cover hers, mindlessly stroking along her knuckles. “He’s more than all right,” he assured. “He’s got a fight ahead of him, bein’ early and all, but the docs are takin’ really good care of him. They’ve got him hooked up to every machine under the sun to make sure nothin’ goes wrong.”

Though she had been reasonably sure of his response, relief flooded through her at hearing the actual words. “We’re not going to be able to take him home any time soon, are we?”

Spike shook his head. “He’s got a spot more growing to do. But I talked to the nurses and we’re goin’ to be a part of every step of it. I promise you.”

“When am I going to be able to see him?”

“Soon. Very soon.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, and Buffy was struck again at how happy Spike seemed. Do I look like that? she mused. She would bet yes.

“I guess it’s a good thing we never agreed on a girl name, huh?” she commented with a smile.

The corner of his mouth lifted. “Nah. All it needed was me gettin’ one look at the little one, and you could’ve sold me on naming it Mona Lisa if that’s what you wanted.”

“Yeah, well, hate to break it to you, but you probably could’ve convinced me on Annabel if you’d stuck with it. I was getting ready to cave anyway.” The look on his face was priceless, and she laughed, feeling better and more alive than she had in days. Though the memories of the pain and the reasons for it still lurked at the corners of her world, Buffy didn’t care. Not in that minute. She was going to revel in her new family. The last four years of her life had been about death; she figured she was due for some good old-fashioned affirmation on the glory of living.

* * *

Giles nearly dropped the Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee he was taking back for the others when Willow suddenly materialized before him. “Good lord,” he snapped. He held the cups away from his body, mindful of the hot splashes that had already spilled onto his hands. “Teleportation is not a parlor trick to be used for your own amusement, Willow. You can’t just flit about whenever the fancy takes you.”

“This isn’t fancy, Giles. This is necessity.”

When she twisted to look at her surroundings, he noticed that the odd blackness to her irises had gone. The only indications of her earlier acceptance of the Guardian mantle were the white streaks that remained in her hair. In fact, she seemed very much like she had been prior to any of the additional magic. It could have been a pre-London Willow standing in front of him now, all the way down to the nervous dart of her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. When she turned back to look at him, he saw for the first time the items she carried, a small, intricately carved box and a wooden staff. “And what on earth are those?”

“I’ll fill you in. I promise. I just need to know, is Buffy OK? I know the souling spell worked but---.”

“Both of them are as well as can be expected. Remarkably well, actually, considering how much trauma they’ve both been through today.”

“And there hasn’t been any sign of Esme?”

Frankly, Giles had forgotten all about the witch. “No,” he said, resuming his path back to the waiting room. “Do you honestly believe she’s going to try attacking Buffy again?”

“She thinks she needs Buffy, so, yeah, pretty sure she’ll show up again. Giles, stop.” The command was curt, taking him by surprise, and when he turned to look back at her, he saw her fingers absently tracing the edges of the box. “I know I’m asking a lot of you, but I need you to keep your mouth shut and just listen to me for a second. There’s a way for us to stop Esme—we think—but I need your help in order for it to work. And we don’t have time for questions. Esme’s probably going to show up any second so that she can take advantage of the fact that Buffy can’t really fight back. So listen to me, OK?”

In spite what the young people might think, Giles was more than a man of reason. He also had fairly good intuitive skills, and right now, his gut was telling him to do exactly what Willow said. He listened.

When she was done, he merely nodded.

* * *

Xander was crouched in front of the vending machine, pulling out the Snickers bar he’d just bought, when he heard Havi hiss beneath her breath just behind him. By the time he looked back to see what was wrong, she was marching in those long, purposeful strides of hers toward the far corridor.

“Hey!” he called out, but she didn’t stop, and he had to break into a jog to catch up. The others gave him a queer glance as he raced after Havi, but nobody rose to follow, leaving him to grab her elbow alone further down the hallway.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

She wasn’t looking at him, her entire body rigid as she pulled her arm away and pushed past. “I saw Esme,” Havi said tightly.

His brows shot up. “Here?”

It dawned on him then that this was the same hall the nurse had led Spike down when she’d come to take him to Buffy’s room. Xander broke into a dead run to chase after Havi.

He skidded as he rounded a corner, trying to stop when he saw Havi facing off with a tiny, elderly woman. Though the old lady looked harmless, his girlfriend’s furious sneer was enough to put Xander on the defensive, and he stepped up to place himself between them.

“Can we help you with something?” he asked brightly.

“Step away, Xander.” Havi’s hand clapped down on his shoulder, the force she exerted making him wince.

“Yes, Xander,” Esme mimicked. “Step away.”

Her mocking laughter made him wrench away from Havi’s hold, wagging a finger at the old witch. “Shut up,” he said. “Or I just might let her have a turn at you after all. You really don’t want to see her when she gets angry.”

Something flickered in Esme’s black eyes. “I can assure you that it’s nothing compared to what I can do when pushed too far,” she said evenly.

He never even saw her lift her hands. One second, he was standing in front of her. The next, his back was slamming into the wall and he was crumpling to the floor in pain.

Though Havi glanced in his direction, she didn’t move from her stand-off with the witch. “You will not get to Buffy,” she said to Esme. “You have created enough misery today for a lifetime. I will not let you hurt her even more.”

“I don’t want to hurt her, you foolish girl. I need her strong and healthy.”

“You tried to kill her child.”

“Yes, but that was merely a means to an end. Buffy was never in any true danger.”

Xander blinked against the bleariness of his vision. Hitting his head on the wall hadn’t helped, but he pushed back up to his feet anyway, fighting back the wave of dizziness that threatened to make him fall over again.

“Losing the baby would’ve destroyed Buffy,” he said.

Esme smiled. “Yes, well, we can’t have everything, now can we?”

When she tried to turn away, Havi leapt forward. Even with his blurry eyesight, Xander saw her fly across the ground in front of him, staying low enough to try and avoid any magical blast from Esme. She’d almost tackled the old woman when she suddenly crumpled to the floor.

This time, the witch laughed. “Please,” she said. “Do you really think I’d be so stupid to come in here without some sort of protection? There are reasons I’ve lived as long as I have, and taking unnecessary risk is not one of them.”

Havi didn’t answer. She was holding her shoulder awkwardly, and Xander realized she had dislocated it against whatever barrier Esme had up around her.

“I’ll be seeing Buffy now,” Esme said.

“I don’t think so.”

He had never been so glad to hear Willow’s voice before. Squinting, he looked past the old woman to see his best friend and a fuzzy Giles standing behind her. There was some kind of box in one of Giles’ hands and a big stick in the other.

“Buffy’s visitors are limited to friends and family,” Willow said when Esme turned around to look at her. “Sorry. You don’t qualify as either.”

He couldn’t see the witch’s face any more. He could, however, see the way she stood up straighter, the way her gnarled hands tensed at her sides. It took a long time for Esme to respond.

“This…is unexpected,” she said.

“Which part?” Willow asked. “Us showing up to stop you, or the fact that you can actually see what it is you’ve been wanting so badly for the past thirty years?”

Xander figured she had to be talking about the box, because the only other option was Giles and that would’ve just been wrong.

“My power wasn’t enough for you to usurp, little girl? Becoming a Guardian, though…well, I suppose if you imagined you could ever control what was never yours, you believe you can do this, as well.”

“I have the box, don’t I?” Willow smiled. “Only Guardians and those of Slayer blood could’ve retrieved it, and last I checked, Buffy and I weren’t related.”

“Where’s the scythe?”

“The scythe is not part of this deal,” Giles said.

Esme chuckled. “We have a deal, now?”

Stepping forward, Giles held the box up so that she could get a better look at it. “The Council is well aware that one of your goals has been to extend your life,” he said. “You fear death. You fear what comes after. But, right now, I am prepared to strike a bargain with you. I give you the eternal youth you seek, and you promise to disappear afterward. No harming Buffy, no harming her family or friends, no harming other Slayers. And if you attempt to do anything to harm anyone first, the offer becomes null and void.”

“You can offer me _nothing_ , Watcher,” Esme sneered.

“Actually, he’s the only one who can.” Xander could practically hear the smile in Willow’s voice. “Only Council members can release the power within the box. Kidnapping Buffy would have only gotten you so far.”

“This is a trick.”

“No, it’s a last resort.” Stepping forward, Giles held out the box to the witch. Though Xander wanted to jump up and scream _Don’t do it!_ , he knew that Giles and Willow wouldn’t be making the offer if they weren’t completely sure about the outcome.

“We can’t stop you,” Giles continued. “You’ve proven that your magic is beyond our ability to counter. I’m offering you this deal because I’m more interested in ensuring Buffy and her child’s futures than I am suffering the Council’s outdated tenets.”

Tentatively, Esme reached to take the box, her wrinkled fingers stroking the carved wood almost intimately. Even from where he was standing, Xander could hear her sharp intake of breath, and when he heard the soft murmuring quickly follow, he squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the worst.

Seconds passed. Nothing happened. The worst turned out to be kind of boring.

Peeking, Xander saw Esme turning the box over in her hands, as if she was looking for something. “It won’t open,” she hissed.

“It will,” Giles countered. “But only by the power of the Watcher’s word. Which, I believe, Willow already told you.”

“This is a foolish bargain you strike,” she said. “You have no guarantee that I will hold true to my promise. I could come after Buffy once the power is mine.”

“You could. But then you would have all the Guardians, and the Council, and every Slayer who might come after Buffy, hunting you down. Do you truly wish to spend an eternal youth looking over your shoulder?”

Stalemate. Even Xander could see that.

Esme slowly nodded. “Very well. You have a deal.”

Willow immediately retreated to the far end of the hallway. When she met Xander’s eye, he nodded and hustled forward to Havi. Slipping his arm around her waist, he helped her fall back to the opposite end of the corridor, putting as much distance between them and Esme as possible.

“Put the box down in front of you,” Giles instructed.

As soon as she had done so, he began slowly tapping the stick against the tiled floor, murmuring something under his breath in a language Xander didn’t recognize. Too quickly, the lid of the box opened, and black smoke began to plume along the edges, curling up into thin tendrils that twisted and climbed at the same pace as Giles’ tapping.

“Yes…” Esme breathed.

The air became charged, and the hair stood up on the back of Xander’s neck. At his side, Havi gripped his arm almost painfully, but she was as transfixed by the sight as he was.

The black smoke began to wind its way up the witch’s body, insinuating itself between her legs, around her hips, along her spine. When it reached her neck, her head fell back, her mouth open, and like a moth to a flame, the tendrils sped up, raced upward along her bared throat to begin disappearing past her lips.

The tapping never stopped. Never quickened. Never slowed.

A low keening began to come from the witch’s mouth, and Xander’s eyes widened as he saw her skin begin to turn ashy. Her cry grew louder with every breath, but as the air seemed to clog with the black smoke she consumed, her eyes snapped open, and her head lowered so that she could stare at Giles.

“You…” she said, but it came out barely intelligible, gurgled like she was talking underwater. Her muscles tensed, as if she was struggling against an unknown assailant, and her gnarled fingers turned into claws.

Giles didn’t look away. He continued to chant, continued to tap.

Xander could barely see Esme through the smoke that enveloped her. It coated her skin, found entry through every orifice it could find. Beneath it, her body began to change shape, but each form lasted only seconds before reverting back to that of the elderly woman.

Then, with a brilliant flash and a deafening crack, she was gone.

Neither Xander nor Havi moved as they stared at the closed box on the floor. A black stain surrounded it, like it was the center of an explosion, but the wood was completely unmarred.

The tapping stopped, and slowly, Giles stepped forward and crouched to examine the box more closely. Willow was at his shoulder by the time he picked it up, and he passed it over to her for her to examine.

Xander hadn’t realized he’d been holding his breath until Willow smiled. With Havi leaning heavily against him, they walked back to their friends.

“Sometimes I wonder why bad guys fall for the lie so easily,” he said. “You think they’d be a little bit smarter about getting stabbed in the back.”

“Actually, we didn’t lie,” Giles said.

At Xander’s blanch, Willow added, “Esme really did get the eternal youth she wanted. But we were pretty sure the demon wasn’t going to let her get away. She’s not a Slayer. It was probably pissed.”

“But…she’s in the box, right? This is one problem we can say sayonara to?”

“Yep.”

He grinned and patted the closed lid. “Phenomenal cosmic power, itty bitty living space.” When Willow rolled her eyes, he shrugged. “Oh, c’mon. Don’t tell me you weren’t thinking the same thing.”

“What will happen to Esme?” Havi asked.

Willow and Giles exchanged a guilty glance. “We’re not entirely sure,” she confessed. “Either she’s been merged with the demon, or it’s eating her soul for all eternity. Could go either way.”

“Well, personally, I’m pulling for the soul eating,” Xander said. “After what she did to Buffy’s baby, I think she’s due a little bit of karmic justice.”

“Spike will be disappointed he was not a part of this,” Havi said. “He wished to inflict as much harm upon Esme as she did upon the child.”

Giles nodded. “Understandable. But after everything he and Buffy have experienced today, they certainly didn’t need the stress of dealing with Esme as well. They deserve this opportunity to enjoy their new son in peace.”

“And if Spike gets really cranky about being left out,” Willow added with a bright smile, “I’ll let him kick the box around some. Being indestructible makes it an excellent object for stress relief.” She stopped, eyes widening as if only suddenly realizing something. “Schmoo’s a boy? What else did I miss?”

Smiling, Xander put his free arm over her shoulders as they headed back to the waiting room. “Oh, the tales I can tell…”


	61. A Glorious Morning Have I Seen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters are Joss’, of course, and the chapter title comes from Shakespeare’s “Sonnet XXXIII.”  
> PREVIOUSLY ON BUFFY: Buffy and Spike’s son was born prematurely, but is safely ensconced in the hospital’s NICU, while Willow and Giles got rid of Esme once and for all…

In spite of Buffy’s requests, the hospital refused to let everybody in to see her until the following morning, using her weakened condition as an excuse to monitor her more closely. “Only one person at a time,” they insisted, and walked out of her room, blind to her pouts.

Personally, Spike thought it was a grand idea. He knew she wanted to see her friends, but gathering the group of them in one spot would tire her out. There were explanations to be made, praises to be sung, questions to be answered. He slipped out long enough to let Joyce and Giles get their moments with Buffy, but returned as soon as they were gone, holding her hand until the nurses kicked him out. Then he snuck back in after the shifts had changed, falling asleep stretched out alongside her, holding her warmth as close to him as possible.

The following morning, however, Buffy woke up smiling and alert and ready for her first visit to NICU. Spike and the nurses tried to prepare her for what she would see, but the moment she saw their son curled up in his incubator, any doubt Spike had about her reactions fled. An awed light sprang into her eyes, and she watched the nurse carefully to learn exactly how she could touch the baby. Holding him was going to have to wait a few days, they explained. Not to discourage physical contact—on the contrary—but both to give Buffy time to learn how to handle him in ways that weren’t overstimulating and for the baby to grow stronger.

It was enough. It was a miracle he was even here. Spike and Buffy were going to take anything they could get.

When they returned to her room, they walked in to an explosion. Balloons and flowers were everywhere, festooning any available flat service with brilliant color. Amidst them stood all her friends, beaming as he wheeled her in. Frankly, he was surprised they hadn’t shouted, “Surprise!”

He helped her get into bed, then fell back to the periphery, watching as Willow and Joyce took direct positions at her sides, Xander and Havi not too far behind. Oz and Giles ended up somewhere in between Buffy and Spike.

“Did you see him?” Willow bubbled. “Is he beautiful?”

“Of course, he is,” Joyce answered. “He’s my grandson.” She shook her head. “And I still think I’m far too young to be saying something like that.”

“He’s perfect,” Buffy said. Her eyes shone. “He’s tiny, yeah, and he needs time to finish growing, but the nurse said he’s responding exactly how he should. We’ll probably get to take him home a lot sooner than they thought we would.”

Spike held his tongue. He wasn’t about to burst Buffy’s bubbly mood with a dose of reality. They were going to get a lot of that as the days wore on; there were still possibilities of developmental issues that the nurse had only skimmed over when she’d talked with Buffy. Spike, however, had demanded to know the whole story. Not that it mattered. Whatever was to come, they’d fight it, no matter what.

“You guys still haven’t told us,” Xander said. “What’s his name?”

She turned her gaze to Spike, amused pride twinkling in its depths. “Spenser Joseph Freston,” she announced.

Murmurs of approval rippled through the room, but it was Harris’ voice that rose above all of them.

“Spenser? Like the TV show?”

“I told you!” Buffy exclaimed defiantly, pointing at Spike. “Nothing from bloody television, huh? I _told_ you that’s where they would think we got it from.”

He sighed, rolling his eyes. “And you know and I know that they nicked the name when they wrote the books. What does it matter if the rest of the world is so blinkered to think we like a dick from the telly instead of one of the best poets of the last millennia?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “Then you should have let me have Dylan.”

“Bugger that. I’m not lettin’ a sprog of mine get compared to any of those gits from 90210.”

“Why Joseph?” Joyce asked, intervening on their friendly argument. She glanced at Spike. “Is that a family name?”

He shook his head. “That one was Buffy’s pick.”

“I like it,” Buffy shrugged. “I thought it fit the best with Spenser. Plus, it totally helped that it’s the name of one of the guys from The Ramones, so there was no way Spike could argue with me about it.”

Willow started chattering on about the nursery then, distracting everyone from the topic of baby names. Everyone, that is, except for Giles and Oz, both of whom were looking at Spike with frowns on their faces.

“Does she mean Joey Ramone?” Oz asked, his voice low enough not to be heard.

At Spike’s nod, Giles said, “Is she not aware that’s not his real name?”

He couldn’t take her eyes off her. He’d never seen her look so beautiful. “No,” Spike said, matching their tones. The last thing he wanted was to be overheard. “And nobody’s goin’ to tell her, yeah? She was so chuffed when she made the connection, I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.”

“I’m surprised she even knows who Joey Ramone is,” Oz commented.

“Yeah,” Spike said softly, a smile curling his mouth. “So was I.”

* * *

It felt odd being in a suit again after so many months in Sunnydale. Gradually, Wesley had adopted a more casual code, one that melded better with Giles’ and the others, leaving his suits hanging in the back of his closet still wrapped in their dry cleaning plastic. Today, however, warranted a return to propriety. As a representative of the Council, even an unofficial one, appearances had to be made.

The discussion about who would go had been brief.

“It needs to be addressed as swiftly as possible,” Wesley had said. “And you are far too important to Buffy not to be there for her today.”

Though Giles had made noises of protest, Wes had been firm. He was certain there was a gleam of gratitude in the older man’s eyes when they parted.

“Are we ready?” Robin asked.

They stood outside Maggie Walsh’s apartment, along with a silent Graham. Each looked uncomfortable, but their reasons were all so dissimilar that it was futile to try and gain camaraderie there, Wesley reasoned. Still, there was a job to be done, and in light of all the problems Walsh and her organization had created with Buffy and the others, he was determined to make this meeting a success.

At their curt nods, Robin knocked. It had been silently agreed that he would be their front man; in spite of the events in the Initiative’s infirmary, he was the one with the best relationship with the woman.

When she answered the door, her eyes were cold as she assessed their presence. “For some reason, I’m not particularly surprised to see you,” Maggie commented.

“May we come in?” Robin asked. “There’s some business we need to discuss.”

“Actually, I find that a very troublesome suggestion,” she replied. “You’re very lucky I’m not pressing charges.” She turned her attention to Graham. “Although _you_ should’ve been in custody already.”

“The choice is entirely yours, of course.” Wesley stepped forward, lifting his chin in his most austere manner. “But considering the rather sensitive nature of our discussions, I would have presumed you’d prefer privacy than a public spectacle.”

Her eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as she shifted her gaze yet again. “And I’m not just closing my door on you because…?”

“Because it’s in your best interests to speak with us.” Reaching into his briefcase, Wesley extracted a single piece of paper and held it out to her. “If you don’t wish to do so here, the Council is fully prepared to do so in a more official setting.”

Though her gaze flickered over the paper, Maggie didn’t take it. She merely stepped away from the door to allow them room to enter.

Inwardly, Wesley let out a sigh of relief. In actuality, the Council had no idea what they were about to do. He and Lydia had spent half the night forging the documents necessary to make his presence appear authorized.

“This looks remarkably like blackmail,” Maggie said once the door was shut behind them.

“We prefer to call it a business agreement,” Wesley countered. “As I’m sure you are aware, the Watcher’s Council presides over the Slayer’s well-being. It is our responsibility to ensure that she receives the best information, the best training, the necessary assistance to make her mission as successful as possible.”

“I would think you’ve been lax in your duties then.” Her smile was deprecating. “A pregnant Slayer? Tell me. Does the Council really condone premarital sex?”

He ignored her snide tone. “Over the past few months,” Wesley said, setting his case down on the desk, “you have committed several egregious acts against the Slayer and her friends, including kidnapping and medical malpractice. In addition, you have attempted to acquire artifacts that, even if they should exist, fall under the aegis of the Council’s domain. That amounts to theft, Ms. Walsh.”

“The artifacts _do_ exist.”

“Actually, I never found them,” Robin said. “Your sources are wrong, Maggie. If they exist, they’re not in Sunnydale.”

“While the Council is accustomed to other powers attempting to usurp their control,” Wesley continued, “what we find so interesting about your particular case is that you acted without official authorization.” He began pulling out copies of memos, documents Robin had forwarded to him as well as information Graham had convinced his vampire source to share, and fanned them out on the desk. “Nothing within your operation’s parameters supports your personal fascination with the Slayer. You’ve been utilizing government resources for your own agenda.” He smiled. “The Council is very certain that the American military does not support such behavior within their own ranks, Ms. Walsh.”

Picking up the papers, Maggie began reading them over, pacing around the room as she did so. Finally, she sighed and sat down in an elegant chair.

“None of this would hold up in court,” she said, holding them out for Wesley to take back.

He shook his head. “Those are your copies, Ms. Walsh. As for the courts, well, we’re both adults here. We both know your true authorities do not bother with the federal judiciary system.”

“What is it you want?”

“Nothing beyond your power to grant, I can assure you. Due to yesterday’s unfortunate security breach, measures are already being taken for the Initiative to move their base of operations. We want you to ensure that it’s far removed from Sunnydale and the Slayer.”

“I don’t have that kind of power.”

Wesley’s smile was condescending. “Please don’t presume to lie to me, Ms. Walsh. We’re well aware that it was your influence that swayed the government to select Sunnydale in the first place. You can do so again to get them out.”

Her jaw was tense as her gaze flickered to Robin and Graham. “We’ve done great work here,” she argued. “The hostile population is down over ten percent, and the knowledge we’ve gained---.”

“It wasn’t all us.” Wesley was surprised to hear Graham speak up. His presence was only to provide muscle should the need arise and to hear for himself that his own wishes were granted.

Maggie was surprised as well. “Your disloyalty to the Initiative dishonors your fellow soldiers,” she said coldly. “Many of them have died for this mission, and you would take their achievements away from them?”

“Buffy and her friends do more for this town than anything we ever accomplished,” Graham argued. “The reason the hostile count is down is because of _their_ efforts even more than ours. In fact, our interference has held them back.”

“Our request stands firm,” Wesley interjected. “If you don’t wish to be punished for your extracurricular activities, Ms. Walsh, you will do everything in your power to make the removal as smooth as possible.”

Silence hung in the room as she contemplated her options. Finally, she gave him a curt nod.

Wesley pulled out an affidavit and handed it over. “You will also swear that you will never pursue the Slayer or any of the artifacts again,” he said. Reaching into his inside coat pocket, he extracted a pen and held it out. In truth, the affidavit had zero legal legs to stand on, but the more official he could make this look, the better the odds that Walsh would actually stick to her end of the bargain. “This holds true for any future Slayers as well as Ms. Summers’ current friends and family.”

Her lips were a thin, white line as she scrawled her name across the paper.

“Finally—.”

“What else on this earth could you possibly want?” she demanded.

Slipping the affidavit back into his briefcase, Wesley snapped it shut as loudly as he could manage. “Due to Graham’s efforts to support the Slayer, we would like his record expunged of any wrongdoing, as well as an honorable discharge be granted. He’s earned the right to his freedom.”

That seemed to be the final straw. Maggie leapt to her feet.

“That’s preposterous!” she spat. “What Miller’s done is tantamount to treason. It will not be tolerated.”

“And yet, it will.” His voice was deadly quiet, his eyes like ice. He was weary of pretending he tolerated this woman. “We have proof linking you personally to civilian deaths, Ms. Walsh. Incontrovertible evidence that paints you as more of a monster than those you claim to be against. Personally, I find the Council’s attitude toward you too lenient. If I had my way, we would be dealing with your superiors while you were called to task for the atrocities you’ve committed. So, should you choose to disregard any one of the Council’s requests, it will be my pleasure to see that you are prosecuted to the fullest extent of both your law and ours.” When the corner of his mouth lifted into a cold half-smile, he saw her pale. “Trust me. Our law has a tendency to be rather…harsh with its penalties.”

“Take the offer, Maggie,” Robin coaxed. “It’s best for everybody, all around.”

“It would appear I have no choice.” Without another word, she marched to the door and held it open, stepping back so that it was clear she wanted them to leave.

“You have forty-eight hours to arrange the paperwork for Mr. Miller’s discharge,” Wesley said as he headed for the exit. “If we find it hasn’t occurred, we will be contacting your superiors.”

The door slammed shut behind them.

“Well, that went well,” Robin commented.

“Do you think she’ll do it?” Graham asked, following Wesley back to the parking lot.

Wes was silent for a moment before replying. “We can only hope.”

* * *

She hadn’t prepared for Schmoo being early. When Spike had given her the first explanations about what to expect, Buffy had tried to listen, but what she really wanted was to see her son, see for herself that it hadn’t all been a dream, see that all the trauma from the past few days had been worth it. There had been a split second, when she’d seen all the machines and heard all the electronics humming in the background, where her hopes plummeted. _It’s not fair!_ she wanted to scream. She’d done everything right, taken every precaution. She was supposed to have a strong, healthy baby to be able to hold and take home. She didn’t think that was too much to ask, considering how many times she’d saved the world.

Then she saw him.

Her son.

Spenser Joseph Freston. She had a real name to be able to use now.

None of the other stuff mattered any longer.

He was tiny, like Spike had warned. Because his systems weren’t completely developed, he was connected to both an IV and a ventilator, but Buffy didn’t even notice those as she gazed at him with her heart in her throat. All she saw was the strong line of his jaw, the soft pout of his mouth. A fighter, Spike had said, and even if it was irrational, Buffy took the small hands balled into fists as proof of that. Even more, when Spenser opened his eyes, she would’ve sworn on every Bible in the world that he recognized her.

She spent every available moment with him. Spike made jokes about latent maternal instincts, but Buffy knew the truth. She didn’t _feel_ like a mother, but she most definitely recognized the fierce need to protect what was hers. With Spenser so weak and defenseless, there was simply no other choice but be there to prevent any harm she could. She had no illusions that she would be of use for any of his medical issues, but she would be damned if something supernatural was going to threaten him. Even with Esme gone, there were other dangers. Buffy would fight any and all that dared to attack her son.

Spike was amazing with Spenser, but then again, she had known all along that he would be. After all, it was his nature to be attentive and diligent to those he loved. Not even the demon could kill that. Watching him coo and sing to the baby was almost as good as getting to spend time with Spenser herself.

Almost.

Buffy’s only regret was that she didn’t get to be part of taking down Esme. Willow and Giles filled them in on the details her third day in the hospital, and Buffy had to watch as Spike killed three of her floral arrangements while he ranted about his fair share of vengeance. Willow whisked him away—presumably to calm him down—but when he returned after lunch for their afternoon visit with Spenser, he had a satisfied grin that instantly had Buffy suspicious. No amount of coaxing or threatening would get him to spill what had happened, though. Buffy had to settle for wondering just how Willow had accomplished it.

She had just found her routine when the doctors told her it was time for her to be discharged. “What about Spenser?” she demanded, hands on her hips as she glared at the Doogie wannabe. “I can’t just leave him. He needs me.”

Spike’s hand was gentle in the small of her back, and it was only that which kept her from lashing out physically. “We’ll still be here for all the open NICU hours, luv,” he murmured in her ear. “And as much as I’d love to see you thrash this wanker, I’m just a mite eager to get you home, too. But I promise. We’ll still be seein’ the little one as much as we have been. Just this way, you get your own bed and some decent food as well.”

Buffy instantly relaxed. He was right. She didn’t get to see Spenser at night anyway, though the thought of not being within running distance still left her mildly anxious. “I don’t have to go until tonight, though, right?” she asked the doctor.

“Of course not.”

She only half-listened as he recited her post-op restrictions. Home. After everything, it seemed a little surreal to consider. Briefly, she wondered how long it would be before she could start patrolling again. She knew Spike had it under control for now, but her body was aching for something a little more strenuous than just walking to and from the bathroom.

“…and no driving.”

Behind her, Spike snorted. “Like I’d let that bloody happen anyway,” he muttered.

“Is that it?” she asked, eager to get on.

“That’s it.”

She was past him, on her way to NICU, before he could blink.

* * *

It was well after dusk by the time the Thunderbird pulled into the Summers’ driveway. Buffy had started to doze in the last few minutes, but the gentle coast to a stop followed by the quieting of the engine was enough to bring her out again.

“Home, kitten,” Spike said quietly.

Though she smiled, she made no move to get out, gazing upon the lit windows with affection. “You know what I’m looking forward to?” she said. “The night we get to come home with a car seat in the back.”

“It’ll happen soon enough. Then you’ll be wishin’ for a good night’s sleep again.” Her hand shot out and grabbed his arm when he shifted to open his door. When he looked back at her, his brows were drawn together into a slight frown. “What’s wrong?”

Her throat was suddenly dry. She’d had a speech all planned, but faced with the opportunity to give it, words fled her control. How did she try and explain to Spike just what the past week had meant to her? How could she hope to get him to understand how invaluable it was having him to anchor her? She couldn’t. It wasn’t possible.

He must have seen something in her face, because his frown softened into a shy smile. “Yeah,” Spike murmured, reaching out to cup her cheek. “I know.”

Buffy leaned into him, closing her eyes. “I so suck at the Hallmark moments.”

“Was that what that was?” He chuckled when she blindly slapped at his arm. “Knew my Slayer was in there somewhere.”

Still, they didn’t move. His thumb caressed the line of her cheek.

“You’re going to be an amazing father,” she whispered. It was easier to say such things with her eyes closed. Buffy was sure that if she saw the look on his face, raging hormones would win and she’d burst into tears. “I’ve never known anybody who loves like you do.”

“I have. A golden-haired goddess who saw through a worthless poet’s shell.”

Damn it. He could make her cry just with words, too. She really should have known better.

Gently, Spike caught her tears with the pad of his thumb. “Hey, now,” he chided. “We’ve survived the worst part. Think that calls for celebrating instead of the waterworks, don’t you?”

This time, she looked. He’d moved closer, and his eyes glowed darkly in the dim light. “You’re going to help me, right?” she asked. “Because this whole mothering thing is going to take me a little getting used to.”

“I’m goin’ to be there every step of the way. Made a promise, didn’t I? And since when do you know me to go back on my promises?”

Her lips twitched. “Well, you _did_ come back to Sunnydale and kidnap Willow after---.”

“Extenuating circumstances. And I left again, remember?”

She immediately sobered. “But not this time.”

“No,” Spike said, shaking his head. “Never again.”

She met him halfway when he leaned in to kiss her, falling into the familiar caress of his mouth with an ache borne from time slipping by. Before she could fully immerse herself in him, however, a light tapping came at Spike’s window, forcing the pair apart.

The smile on Willow’s face was nervous as he rolled down the window. “This better be good,” he growled.

“Good’s not exactly the word I’d use,” she replied. “But I wanted to catch you before you came in. I waited on the porch for you, but then I could hear them arguing inside and you two started kissing and I was worried I was going to lose my opportunity to give you the heads up.”

Buffy frowned. “ _Who_ was arguing inside?”

* * *

He flew toward the house as soon as he heard the name, knocking Willow on her ass when he suddenly pushed his door open to get out of the car. Behind him, Buffy tried to temper his speed by calling after him, but Spike was too livid to respond, taking the porch steps in a single leap, then shoving the front door open so viciously that one of the hinges snapped.

He heard the men in the living room and veered his path accordingly, taking several long strides before he stood before the guest who’d arisen upon Spike’s entry. With a furious gleam in his eye, Spike swung and slammed his fist into Quentin Travers’ jaw, hearing a satisfying crunch as the man was thrown back against the mantle from the force.

“Spike! Stop it!”

Through the cacophony of voices behind him, Joyce’s and Buffy’s came through the clearest, halting him in his tracks as he glared down at the Watcher crumpled on the floor. Buffy’s hand curled around his elbow, yanking him further away, but Spike could’ve sworn he saw a pleased quirk to Rupert’s mouth. He’d probably been itching to flatten the Head Ponce since he walked through the door, Spike realized. Well, no bloody way was he going to apologize for this when the wanker woke up. It was the least he deserved after the nightmares of the past five months.

He let Buffy pull him into the kitchen while Joyce and Giles tended to an unconscious Travers. She didn’t say a word as he hopped up onto the counter, remaining quiet until after she’d poured herself a glass of milk and downed it. Even then, her gaze stayed even.

“Do you feel better now?” she asked wryly.

“I’ll feel better once those gits are done meddling in your life,” he shot back. “And don’t tell me you haven’t given a thought or six about doin’ the same to that blowhard. After everything, he’s a sight lucky I didn’t snap his bleedin’ neck.”

Her features remained calm, though there was a hint of amusement softening her mouth. “And so I’ll ask again,” Buffy said. “Do you feel better?”

He grinned. He couldn’t help it. “Yeah. I do.”

Willow appeared in the doorway, her hands twisting in front of her. In spite of this newfound Guardian allegiance, she seemed more like her old self than ever before. This was the same girl who’d stood up to him in the tiny hotel room in London, with the addition of a few creative streaks in her hair. More than once during her visits to the hospital, Spike had teased her about being one up on him because at least she didn’t need bleach to get the same effect.

“That was kind of why I wanted to warn you,” she said, her eyes darting from Buffy to Spike. “We weren’t expecting him either, but Buffy’s mom let him in before Giles could stop her. He and Mr. Travers have been fighting ever since.”

“Has he said what he wants?” Buffy asked.

“Giles hasn’t given him a whole lot of chance to do his own talking,” Willow admitted. “The only thing we know for sure is that he deliberately timed this so that he could see you as soon as you came home from the hospital.”

“Gee. How generous of him.”

“What about Wood?” Spike asked. He avoided Buffy’s eyes. The topic of the Slayer’s son was a sensitive one, and though she had asked him more than once to tell the story of what had happened with Nikki Wood, Spike had yet to do so. That was a fight for another day. “Is he in on this?”

Willow shook her head. “He left this morning to go back to New York. He said…this was never his home, and he didn’t want to make things worse for Buffy by sticking around.”

Though he nodded as if he understood, Spike didn’t believe it for a second. He was going to be extra-diligent in looking over his shoulder for awhile. That kind of anger didn’t just disappear overnight.

“I sent Havi to go keep an eye on Spenser at the hospital while you two talk to Travers,” Willow continued. “I knew Spike would be worried, but I have a feeling you both need to be here for this.”

“Thanks, Will.” Sighing, Buffy leaned back against Spike’s knees, and he immediately wrapped his arms around her shoulders to pull her closer against his chest. “And here I was hoping for a nice quiet night in with my breast pump and a tub of Ben and Jerry’s.”

Willow grinned. “Is that your new pet name for Spike?”

He gave her his best leer. “Wouldn’t you like to know, Red.”

Giles appeared behind Willow’s shoulder. “Mr. Travers is awake,” he said. “Spike, if you think you can refrain from hitting him again until after he’s had an audience with Buffy, I think it’s best to get this over with as quickly as possible.

“He’ll behave,” Buffy said. Lacing their fingers together, she tugged Spike off the counter. “Because he knows if he doesn’t, I can make him regret it.”

Spike let himself be towed back into the living room, where the Council Head sat up in the corner of his couch. Travers had an ice pack from the first aid kit pressed to his jaw, but he lowered it as soon as Buffy entered, his nostrils flaring as he took in their clasped hands.

“You’re looking well, Ms. Summers,” he said, his voice even in spite of the pain Spike could tell he was in. “Let me extend my congratulations on the birth of your son.”

“Thank you,” she replied automatically. She took a seat in the chair, and Spike poised himself on its arm, presenting a united front. “But really? You can ditch the Grandpa Walton routine. Nobody here is buying it.”

“As usual, you erroneously assume the worst. We never wished you any harm.”

“Which is why you recruited Lydia and Robin to do…what exactly? We never did get all those details before, oh yeah, they figured out you were a lying bastard.”

Though she was smiling, Spike could feel the tension already winding through Buffy and leaned to the side so that his arm slipped around her shoulders. He wasn’t the only one itching to misbehave, it would seem.

Travers remained unperturbed. “The last thing the Council wishes is to inflict harm upon innocent creatures,” he said. “Your son was never in danger, even considering how…inauspicious his conception was.”

“I’m going to assume that’s an SAT word for bad,” she countered. “In which case, you’d be wrong. Spenser might have been a surprise, but he’s here because I love his father. There’s absolutely _nothing_ inauspicious about that.”

Giles ducked his head in time to hide his smile from Travers, but there was no way Spike could miss it. Better yet, Joyce and Willow didn’t even pretend not to be pleased with Buffy’s answer.

“In fact…” She rose to her feet, prompting Spike to stand as well. “…I can’t think of a single good reason why I should have to talk to you. You’re the one responsible for sending Esme back into our lives, which in my mind, makes you responsible for all the people she hurt. I’ll bet you were even thinking you could try and manipulate her to help you get your hands on the artifacts she was so hot for, but you know what? It was never going to happen. Because you have no concept of what power really is. You think it’s a big stick of knowledge you can wave in front of scared little girls, but it’s not. It’s a lot bigger than that. And until you figure it out for yourself, we don’t have anything to say to each other.”

Spike didn’t bother hiding his smirk as Buffy grabbed his hand and pulled him toward the staircase. They made it all the way to the bottom step before Travers’ voice stopped them.

“The world is a dangerous place, Ms. Summers.” When they glanced back to the Watcher, Spike couldn’t help but wonder if the man was capable of any emotion whatsoever. It wasn’t very often that Spike met a human so cold. “Bringing a child into it, believing you can protect it while continuing your Chosen duty? It seems rather foolhardy to me.”

Her eyes flashed in anger. “And if I was alone in taking care of Spenser, I might actually agree with you,” she snapped. “But I’m not. I have Spike, and my mom, and my friends. That makes all the difference.”

“If you were to be reasonable, you could have the Council’s support as well.”

Buffy shook her head. “You still don’t get it. I’ve never needed your support. I’ve needed your _trust_.”

This time, she didn’t stop. She didn’t say another word until her bedroom door was closed behind them.

“How long do you think we have to hide up here before he goes away?” she asked, slumping against the door.

Spike chuckled. Taking her hand, he pulled her gently to the bed, pressing her to lie down while he stretched out beside her. “I vote for not leaving ‘til it’s time to go to hospital in the morning.”

“Sounds like a plan. A very good plan.” Snuggling up into his side, Buffy rested her cheek on his chest while her hand strayed over his flat stomach. “It seems like forever since I could get this close to you,” she sighed.

His arms tightened around her. If he let himself, he could drown in the sound of her heartbeat pulsing against him. It was enough to forget even the wanker still sitting downstairs.

“Spike?” Her voice was tiny, unsure. He would’ve liked to see her face, but she was nestled too closely for him to shift and look. “Have you thought about what happens next? For us, I mean.”

He had. Every second when he hadn’t been consumed with worry about her and the little one. But she wasn’t asking because she wanted to hear his thoughts. That much was obvious.

“What’s got you in knots, luv?” he murmured. “Seems to me, all’s finally right with the world. No more baddies with delusions of grandeur, nobody tellin’ us we can’t be together. Soon as we get the little one home--.”

“Do you see this as home, then?”

“You’re here, aren’t you? That’s all the home I need.”

She sighed, and her breath was warm and honeyed where it seeped through his t-shirt. “I can’t seem to get my brain to turn off,” she said. “I keep thinking about everything that’s got us to this, and half the time, I want to laugh because it seems so ridiculous.”

“And the other half?”

“I want to do stuff like this.” Abruptly, she peeled away from him, sitting up so that she was sitting cross-legged on the bed facing him. Because they hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights when they’d come in, she was outlined against the open curtains, her edges shimmering in silver. “If I asked you to do some sort of ceremony where we were all pledge-y to each other, would you point at me and laugh? Or would it wig you out and make you run away?”

It was so opposite to what he’d been considering was going through her head that Spike had to sit up and stare at her. “Are you askin’ what I think you’re askin’?” he said carefully.

“It wouldn’t be a wedding,” she blurted. “Because, you know, you don’t exactly exist in the eyes of the law, and they kind of make that a requirement thingy for getting a certificate, I think. So really, it would be more of a get-together, with cake, and vows, and you in a tux and me in a dress once I don’t look like Shamu. This is what unconventional couples do, right? Because I _really_ don’t have any frame of reference on how to go about this, except for that lesbian wedding on _Friends_ and I don’t think---.”

He shut her up with a kiss. When she looped her arms around his neck, Spike threaded his fingers through her hair, deepening the caress until he felt her start to quiver. “You really think you can scare me off with words of commitment, you dozy bint?” he murmured when he pulled away. “If memory serves, I was the first one to bring this up a century ago.”

“Times change.”

“You and me haven’t.”

“There’s Spenser now.”

He kissed her again. Something about her daft reasoning made him want to try and kiss some sense into her.

She was panting when they parted this time, and he could smell her arousal. Any other time, he’d be pressing the advantage, but this close to her surgery, with the doctor’s warnings still hanging over his head, Spike held back, settling for skimming his palms along her bare arms.

“You…me…the little one…in my mind, we’re _already_ a family. The two of you…you’re my world, and nothin’ would make me happier than shouting that out to any and all. If that’s what you really want.”

Buffy stared at him for a long moment, her eyes growing darker, wetter. Finally, she smiled, ducking her head as she surreptitiously wiped at her face. “One of these days,” she said, “I’m going to be able to get through one of our conversations without turning it into a scene from Steel Magnolias.”

Spike reached up and caught her hand, bringing it to his mouth to taste the salt on her fingertips. “And one of these days,” he murmured, “you’re goin’ to suss out I love you raging, I love you crying, and I love you laughing, Buffy Summers.”

Slipping back against his body, she whispered her own confessions against his chest, holding him close while the words echoed and hung in the air like a symphony begging to be heard. Spike’s eyes drifted shut, letting their warmth soak into his bones, and unseen to Buffy, he smiled.

Edmund Spenser had had it only half right.

They had taught each other’s hearts how to finally speak.


End file.
